


Just Give Me a Reason

by BossGoose, Charmkeeper



Series: Miles to Go Before I Sleep [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dumb boys are dumb, Eventual Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Prophecy AU, Post-Brotherhood, Promnis - Freeform, Slow Burn, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BossGoose/pseuds/BossGoose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmkeeper/pseuds/Charmkeeper
Summary: Sometimes people love like an orchid - easily killed, and once picked it's gone. Ignis loves like a weed - even if you uproot it, it only comes back stronger. Perhaps that is not the worst thing. After all, not all flowers need sunlight to flourish.





	1. Ignis

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you can tell, this is a joint story between us two. We've been talking about it and plotting this for over a month now.
> 
> Anyway! "Ignis" chapters are going to written by Bossgoose, and "Prompto" chapters are going to be written by Charmkeeper. We plan on there occasionally being an interlude chapter with a different POV, and we will inform you of who wrote those chapters.
> 
> We plan on there being an update just about every two weeks, but, no promises. (If we're running behind, it's Bossgoose's fault. It is!)
> 
> Enjoy! <3

It started with a cough. A slight fever. A negligible increase in fatigue. It wasn’t terribly surprising, truth be told. It was that time of year, and though he’d had his flu shot, he knew very well that was no guarantee. It didn’t protect from all strains of the flu, never mind the more common head cold. But he’d power through; as always, he’d simply have to endure. He did not have time to be sick.

Three days of sneezing and coughing and drowning in tea, and his symptoms began to recede. The aches faded away, his sinuses cleared, and the persistent throbbing in his skull abruptly vanished after a night of particularly well-earned sleep. But the cough settled in to stay. Yet in the absence of other symptoms, he could not bring himself to worry too deeply. He’d had asthma as a child, after all. Such symptoms always lingered.

But Ignis knew he was in trouble when days passed the cough only worsened – and then one afternoon while summarizing an agricultural report for His Highness, a round of coughing had him bent over nearly double, clutching at the surface of his desk against the tightness in his chest. When the fit passed, a small, golden petal lay on the polished wood before him, damp with saliva. A marigold, if he wasn’t mistaken, though the ones his uncle grew on the terrace were more red than yellow. More importantly, he knew what this was. He understood now, with perfect clarity, that this was no lingering cold. Hanahaki disease was a well-documented, if not especially understood, illness in modern times. Frowning, the brushed the offending material from his desk into his trash can, took a sip of his near-empty can of Ebony to wash the unpleasant taste from his month, and forced his focus back on the work in front of him.

He knew he couldn’t ignore this and just expect it to go away, but by the six, he could _try_. There certainly wasn’t anything to be done for it now. He would work it into his life, fold it in neatly like it belonged there, as though it simply were just another detail he was accommodating in a busy and detailed life. Sooner or later, things would come to a head, but it didn’t have to be now. 

 

* * *

 

Friday evenings found him at Noctis’s apartment cooking – often cooking ahead, depending on the prince’s responsibilities, or lack thereof, for the weekend – and futilely attempting to convince His Highness that if he only completed his school work and got it out of the way immediately, the remainder of the weekend would be that much more pleasant. He never could be persuaded, of course, but hope springs eternal, pointless as it may be.

Friday evenings also typically brought around Noctis’s sole high school friend – as did many other days, to be perfectly blunt, but Fridays were a near guarantee. As for the boy himself, well. . .

If Ignis were ever to make a list of attributes he found attractive in a potential partner, the traits of one Prompto Argentum would be heavily featured upon it. When Noct had first declared his friendship with the boy – years ago, now – of course he hadn’t been so sure about him. After all, there had been others, people who had befriended the prince in hope of prestige or favours rather than an actual desire for camaraderie. But his very straight-forward background check and actually meeting the boy for himself had gone a long way to reassuring him that the blond was exactly as he seemed. And as time passed, he found his feelings shifting from cautious optimism to fond indulgence, to admiring the way the sunlight gleamed against his over-gelled hair; the way he smiled at literally everything, all teeth and determination; the endless supply of sleeveless shirts that were evidently considered appropriate for any weather - he wasn’t complaining, he _really_ wasn’t; and the sheer amount of appreciation the boy had for even the smallest kind gesture. . . it was utterly charming, and the boy was an absolute pleasure to have around, not to mention his effect on the prince’s maths scores was wholly appreciated.

But the fact that he was a boy was no small part of the problem. He was still in high school, for goodness sakes. He couldn’t make moves on a high schooler. It was inappropriate to the extreme. Furthermore, he was the prince’s best friend. Even were a relationship possible, when it inevitably ended, it would have a detrimental effect on the two boys’ relationship. Even if, best case scenario, there was merely awkwardness on the short term, such awkwardness could have no small effect as the two boys graduated and settled somewhat separately into adult life. There was potential enough for them to drift apart without a failed relationship further complicating the situation.

And perhaps most importantly, the blond wasn’t, without the slightest doubt, even remotely interested in men. The last few years of listening to him gush about Abigail in Chemistry class, or the beautiful blonde at Hammerhead that time they’d all gone camping outside the city, or the full three weeks he’d gushed almost constantly about the barista at Ignis’s former favourite coffee shop, really, it was endless. And it had made his orientation crystal clear, to say the least. There was absolutely no hope.

These were the facts. His own options were rather limited because of them, and although he already essentially knew the decision he would inevitably come to – the only decision he could make, really – he still hadn’t made his mind up yet.

It was sheer luck neither boy was physically at hand when the issue was finally forced. They were nearby. Ignis could hear them playing video games in the next room – something about android aliens and their efforts to destroy all organic life in the universe – absolute nonsense, of course. He was dicing peppers for the evening’s daggerquill rice to the soundtrack of the younger boys' playing, and despite the absolutely grating sound the murderous androids made, Ignis could not quite resent it when they were clearly having so much fun. It was convenient, as it also meant neither boy would hear how often he coughed as he prepared their meal. Noctis had already began to show concern over its lingering, despite reassurances. The hope was the lack of constant reminders would put it out of mind for a time. Or at the very least, it granted him some small measure of peace while he prepared supper. The one concerned friend already hovering while he cooked was a fair distraction in itself – but Gladio plus the younger two? Dreadful. And Gladiolus, at least, was as of yet restraining himself to overt glances and the occasional concerned hum. That wouldn’t last, he knew. He’d be fortunate if it even lasted the evening, at this rate. He had, after all, only so many pockets in which to stuff damp flower petals. Sooner or later, someone was going to notice, and at present, Gladio was the most likely candidate. Particularly given the way he practically climbed up his arse every time he so much as cleared his throat. Yes, even Ignis could acknowledge he had a nasty habit of underselling the severity of when he wasn’t feeling well, but this was ridiculous. Whenever he turned around, the man was offering to stir something or make him a fresh cuppa, and while it was certainly appreciated that he cared, it was also damned inconvenient to have him so very in the way – certainly his Highness’s apartment had a sizable kitchen, but Gladiolus was a sizable man.

Though at least the fact that he seemed incapable of moving more than a few feet from his proximity meant he had something more reliable than the kitchen counter to hold onto (or to hold onto him, rather) when a less minor coughing fit came on. Truth be told, he’d been considering whether he’d included enough peppers with the rice when he felt the familiar tickle in his throat. He’d thought little of it; it was perhaps unsettling to say he was used to it already. But instead of the brief if violent cough he had already learned to smother, he found himself leaning into the nearest steady surface as his lungs felt fit to extend their best effort at mutiny, thick, explosive, full-body hacking that turned his focus inwards. He was dimply aware of the distant click of the stove being turned off, of warm hands closing around his forearms as he swayed. His throat clenched tight enough to choke, his guts rolled, but the petals that spilled out of him, soft and bright, were a far cry from the vomit he'd half-expected. When he could breathe properly again, tears stinging the corner of his eyes, he found that Gladio had led him over to the kitchen table and eased him to sit. The shield knelt in front of him, brow furrowed and frowning, one hand still firmly curled around Ignis’s arm while the other methodically rubbed circles on his back.

Ignis immediately straightened from his hunched position – somewhat, as much as he was able – all at once aware of petals scattered across the floor and the whole damning blossom that lay between them in his lap. The apartment was quiet – too quiet – and for a long moment he could only stare dead straight into amber eyes in abject horror. Breaking the silence, the prince’s voice called from the adjoined room, the note of uncertainty within it making his gut clench anew.

“You okay in there, Specs?”

“I,” he started, swallowed. His sounded like he’d been chewing broken glass – he imagined it felt like this as well, to be perfectly frank. He opened his mouth to speak again, his gaze dropping to the bright petals scattered across the tile, dizzy with panic. No. No, no no no. He could not do this. He had to. . . to get up. To gather and dispose of the evidence, shake this off, and finish dinner. Brush the petals from his lap and declare everything perfectly fine, nothing to be concerned about.

But he didn’t move. And Gladio still held that arm firmly in place. He wouldn’t just let this go.

“Yeah, princess, I got this,” the larger man called, and the sound of a hushed conversation carried from the other room. Then, to Ignis’s great relief, the boys returned to their game, the grating tones of their ridiculous space battle filling the apartment once more.

Ignis cleared his throat, attempted to push up from his seat, despite a lingering unsteadiness. Gladio didn’t budge. In fact, the hand that had until that moment been rubbing his back moved to press his shoulders back against the chair.

“For fuck’s sake, Iggy. Just take a moment, okay?”

The shield retrieved a glass from the cabinet above the sink, filled it from the tap, and placed it on the table in front of him, surprisingly without further comment. He stared at Ignis for a long moment until he reached out to take the drink, then turned his attention to cleaning up the floor, gathering up the petals in a dustpan once Ignis had brushed the remainder from his lap. He hovered by the trashcan for a moment, then sighed and lifted a few wrappers from the top to hide the petals underneath. Then the man plated the dinner – which, after all, had already nearly been done – perhaps not as neatly as Ignis himself would have preferred, but it would serve. And honestly, he kept expecting Gladio to say something – _anything_ – but the man remained silent on the subject, only finally speaking up to call the younger two to dinner.

And even though the silence was nerve wracking, it was also a relief. A relief that someone else knew, even if it was Gladio, and his seeming acceptance of the situation wouldn’t last. Ignis was fully expecting a lecture – an explosion, more like – the moment they had a little privacy. Still, he could not help but appreciate that it was someone he could trust when he found himself feeling not quite so alone with what was happening. Though objectively, both in the immediate and the long run, a little company changed absolutely naught.

Still, the incident had clearly dulled the mood, even if the younger two didn’t know exactly why. They drifted nervously into the kitchen, glancing between the two older men as they retrieved their plates, retreating quickly back to their places by the TV. And despite their plans for a movie night, it wasn’t long before Gladio begged off on account of being tired, and it was clear enough he expected Ignis to follow. He certainly appreciated his discretion thus far, but it seemed, after all, he did intend to discuss the matter. Ignis offered the man a ride home – might as well give the easy excuse – and the prince bid them good night with a small frown, betraying his own uncertainty with a nervous tease to “be careful not to catch what Specs has.” Ignis gave a little snort of laughter, despite himself – he was pretty sure it didn’t work that way. As thanks for his concern, he reminded the prince to study for his maths test and ducked out into the hallway before the dark-haired boy could remember to be anything but indignant. Ignis knew, of course, there wasn’t a chance any studying would occur until Sunday afternoon, at best. He’d long given up fighting such behavior in earnest. It was too late. His Highness’s personality was already set, at this point.

The walk down to the parking garage was made in a silence that was only broken when Ignis pulled his keys from his pocket to unlock his car. The larger man caught his wrist, took the keys away with a grim expression, and when Ignis began to protest, cut him off with an abrupt shake of his head.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so.”

Ignis scowled. He really didn’t like the idea of Gladio driving his car, but the man wasn’t giving him much of a choice. If Gladio thought he shouldn’t be driving, he certainly had the ability to stop him. All he could really do was hope he still had a car at the end of the night – a legitimate concern, with the way the man drove. He gave a disapproving huff, but moved around to the passenger side once Gladio had shouldered past him. He made a point of making eye contact as he buckled himself in, his hackles only rising further as the other man laughed, then adjusted the seat and mirrors to his specifications before starting the car. At least he _tried_ to drive safely, even if he was utterly hopeless at it.

Again they fell silent as Gladio navigated out of the garage and into evening traffic, neither man eager to begin the conversation. After a minute or two, however, Gladio cleared his throat, apparently ready to bite the bullet, so to speak.

“So about what happened in there. . .”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” he snapped, suddenly irritated by the shield’s uncertain tone. Like there was really any room for an alternate explanation. Like it was ridiculous, somehow, that he was a man with actual _emotions_ that affected him.

“Whoa, Iggy.” Gladio glanced away from the road, swallowed, hesitated. Yes, Ignis was self-aware enough to know that perhaps he was feeling a bit defensive, but he didn’t particularly care. “It’s just. . . what are you going to do?”

And just as quickly, the irritation drained away, the ash blond turning his attention to looking out the passenger side window. Streetlights and neon signs were beginning to come on around them as the sun set. Insomnia. The city that never sleeps. A city that was never truly quiet, never entirely peaceful. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug – never mind that the larger man was surely watching the road, or at least should have been. But apparently the gesture was caught, judging by the way the shield responded with his name in that disapproving tone. Right, of course. Ignis Scientia was never uncertain. He was always twelve steps ahead with a solution to every problem. He wasn’t permitted to just not know.

“I’ll have the operation when the time comes, I imagine,” he admitted.

“What, really?” The surprise was expected, he supposed. It probably seemed simpler to air out his feelings, at least from another perspective. Ignis had no doubt that were it Gladio in his place, he’d just hurl his emotions all over the person he was pining for, consequences be damned. But then, Gladio would never be in this position, now would he? Gladio was open and honest in his relationships, and as far as Ignis could tell, he hadn’t exactly been in too terribly many serious ones, had he? Not that Ignis had too terribly much room to talk.

“Yes, really.” It was unlike him to be so snappish, at least without good reason. Was being a complete and utter fool good reason? He had, after all, brought this on himself. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Gladio just because he was the first one to catch on. To be sure, he was making this more difficult than it needed to be. He sighed, the sound more drawn out and weary than it perhaps had cause to be, and turned from his reflection in the passenger window. “It’s. . . inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” he repeated, briefly glancing away from the road. “Is it Noctis?”

Ignis scoffed. He supposed he should have seen that coming. After all, who could have been less appropriate than the crown prince? The young man he’d literally sworn his life to since he was a child. A boy that was practically a brother to him, and not at all a romantic interest. “Please, Gladio, give me some credit.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s certainly not a yes.” Honestly. If he’d fallen in love with Noctis, surely his feelings would have come to a head long before now. And frankly speaking, he wasn’t enjoying the guessing game.

“Okay, so not Noct.” Oh wonderful. He was going to try again. “Is it Cor or my dad or something?”

Ignis laughed. Half the citadel was eyeing The Immortal like a piece of meat, so at least if he _had_ been pining for the man, it would have been a relatable sentiment. Not to mention much easier to deal with. Six, even were he in love with Lord Amicita, that would have been simpler to deal with. Awkward, absolutely, and embarrassing to an extreme, but at least he was someone he could have spoken to and expected some modicum of privacy from. No one would have had to know but him and the subject of his damned infatuation. The reality of the matter was a bit less simple.

“The king?”

 _Honestly._ “Are you an idiot?”

“Alright, alright. No harm in asking.” And for a long moment there was blessed silence. Nothing but the soft purr of the car’s engine, their steady breathing, the play of the light against the car’s interior as they made their way across town to Amicita manor. Evidently while Gladio wasn’t willing to take his chances with Ignis driving while he was in the car, it would be acceptable for Ignis to drive himself. He supposed the rest of Insomnia just didn’t rate against Gladio’s own bodily well-being in the face of potential reckless driving. Either that, or Gladio was planning to keep him overnight, and that certainly was not acceptable. He pulled up to the manor, parked somewhat messily for Ignis’s tastes, then turned off the car, jiggling the keys in his hand a moment before casually tossing them to him. And still, he did not get out.

“You sure you can’t just confess? I mean, that’s how it works, right?” It was difficult to miss the hopeful tone. “Confess, and then you get better?”

That was a bit of an over simplification. Well, as far as he knew. Perhaps some research was in order. While he’d heard the story of how his uncles had gotten together often enough to have the basics down, he was a little blurry on the fine details. Honestly, that should have been the first thing he’d done – would have, no doubt, had he not been so busy wallowing in self-denial. And surely there had been some improvement in understanding in the field in the more than twenty years since his uncles had become a pair. Perhaps he had more options than he realized.

He did know the one thing, with absolute conviction. “Confessing will have quite the opposite effect, I’m afraid.”

“If you’re sure,” the larger man allowed, sounding anything but. “Just don’t give up too easily, okay? You never know.”

Of course, that was the nature of the problem. He knew perfectly well how hopeless it was. The simple truth was, in the absence of new information, removal was still the only real choice available to him.

The shield pulled the door handle, finally opening the driver’s door. “You sure you’re going to be okay to drive?” Ignis gave a quick nod in the affirmative. He would have been fine to drive Gladio home, for that matter, but he supposed he couldn’t really blame the man for not taking the chance, irritating though it may be. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

Again, Ignis confirmed, his chest suffused with a sudden warmth. Gladio went about it like a bull in a china shop, sometimes, but his heart really was in the right place. And he certainly had cause for concern, in this instance.

Finally, the man headed inside, and Ignis was able to switch seats and be on his way. Rather than heading for his apartment, as he’d originally planned, he directed the car towards his childhood home. Uncle Ventus at least ought to be home, and if keeping to his usual hours, he was likely to be up and about still. And Ignis rather thought that if it was to be a night for facing things, he was quite overdue for a heartfelt talk. They didn’t always agree, but talking things out with his uncle always seemed to put things in perspective. Perhaps after tonight, at long last, he’d be ready for the next step.

 

* * *

 

That was it. He was done hiding the situation. Appointments were made and doctors were consulted. Arrangements followed. A specialist was called, and Ignis was put on light duty until the day of his scheduled surgery. In less than a week, now, Uncle Tellus would be back from Altissa, Dr. Adamas would arrive in Insomnia to take his case, and he would go under the knife. He would forget. . . well, not everything, of course. He was not so melodramatic. But he couldn’t deny a certain malaise seemed to linger at the awareness of what he _would_ forget. It wasn’t as though he’d never see the blond again. He and Noctis were best friends, after all – that was half the point, not jeopardizing their relationship. But he’d forget the brightness of his smile, and the way it was used as a decoy. He’d forget the way his nose scrunched slightly when he chewed on his pencil, staring at his history texts as though they were written in old Lucian and someone had neglected to include the translation key. He’d forget the way, when he’d first met him and Gladio, he’d looked so terrified, sheet pale with those big, beautiful eyes fixed on them. And Noctis had looked so shut off, so sure that this would somehow be ruined for them. But the blond had squared his shoulders and Noctis hadn’t been disappointed. The blond had smiled, even, and forced that familiar cheer into his voice. For Noctis, he'd always been brave.

Gone. And it was devastating, but there simply was no other choice to be had. The one small mercy, he supposed, was that when this was over, at least he wouldn’t remember what he had to be sad about - but knowing that now just somehow made him feel worse.

He still hadn’t told anyone who it was. He supposed it would be rather obvious when all was said and done. Hard to deny the truth when it was a great big gaping hole in his life. He considered only briefly how they might react to the realization. Best case scenario, they would take it as intended – blanket permission to pretend his feelings had never existed. He imagined doing so would be a relief all around.

When Ignis arrived at His Highness’ apartment, he could tell immediately something was off. It was far too quiet, to begin with, and while his immediate view of the space wasn’t exactly tidy, it was far less mess than he might have expected after a weekend video gaming with a friend over. Furthermore, once he’d closed the door behind himself and made his way into the apartment, he was greeted with a most unexpected sight – the prince himself, sprawled out on the couch with a book and notebook in his lap, brow furrowed and he chewed rather unbecomingly on the eraser end of a pencil. Was he doing homework?

“Noctis?” He set his briefcase aside, moving to hover by the back of the couch. It was only more alarming to see the boy straighten at the sound of his voice, his gaze immediately focused on his advisor. "Is something the matter?”

“Ignis!” That blue gaze was focused too intently on him, and he was hit with a sudden surge of dread. Surely he didn’t know? He couldn’t possibly. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Cor said you were being put on light duties.”

Ignis hated seeing that look on the prince’s face, particularly it being there over him. And it would be a gross understatement to say he was displeased to have someone discussing his situation with the younger boy before he’d done so himself.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” he said lightly, leaning slightly forward for a better view at the prince’s homework. Was that calculus? Astrals!

“Really.” The dark-haired boy’s eyes narrowed, the stubborn set of his jaw making it quite clear he wasn’t going to let this go. Ignis expected nothing less. “Then why didn’t you pick me up from school? Tell me what’s going on.” His voice had taken on an impudent tone. Charming.

“Very well.” There was no point in brushing it off, he supposed. It wasn’t as though his health was something he could – or should, for that matter – hide at this point. He stepped around to sit on the empty end of the couch. He didn’t miss the brief flash of fear in the other boy’s expression, though he schooled himself quickly. Better to be blunt, then, and put him out of his misery. “Not to alarm you, but we’ve discovered the cause of my lingering malaise is a small growth in my lungs. I will undergo surgery later this week to remove it.”

“ _Specs_. . .”

“Luckily, it is a minor procedure,” he added, surely before the prince could work himself up further, “and absolutely no cause for alarm. By this time next week, I’ll be well on my way to recovery.” Or recovering, anyway. Perhaps by that point they’d be able to employ the use of magical curatives, which evidently were off the table until they were 100 percent sure they’d removed the growth in its entirety. There had been a documented case, the specialist had explained over video call, of using curatives too soon and complications in the relapse. Ignis, naturally, wouldn’t want that, now would he?

“Really?” Blue eyes remained narrowed, the boy’s expression still one of naked suspicion. This was an expression he’d seen many times. Usually when Ignis was promising (lying) about not putting vegetables in his food. He almost reflexively smiled at the thought; Noctis still hadn’t figured out about the cauliflower in the cheese sauce.

“I’m going to be fine.” It wasn’t a lie, surely. He would be cured, after all. “Now, what would you like for dinner?” He rose swiftly from his seat, his attention already what he might throw together from the contents of His Highness’ cupboards. “And will Prompto be joining us this evening?”

“Cor scared him away,” the prince muttered, and then Ignis did chuckle, despite the disappointment that flared in his gut at the admission. Honestly. Cor the Immortal was something the blond would just have to get used to, if he was seriously considering service to the crown. “Plus he said he had a shift tonight. Gladio will be by later, though.” He took note of the careful pause, the way the prince eyed him thoughtfully before adding, “We should get take out.”

Hmmm. Surprising. Usually a suggestion reserved for gaming nights. Or, frankly, when the prince deigned to notice his advisor feeling particularly worn out or under the weather. He couldn’t possibly make it more obvious he was still concerned.

“Highness.” He frowned. Heartwarming and appreciated as the concern was, it was entirely unwarranted. “I am perfectly capable of preparing a simple meal – ”

“- but you don’t have to!” he interrupted, suddenly impatient. “You’re on light duty, right? Then freaking relax already! Like, we all know you’re not going to take it easy like you’re supposed to, so at least relax and watch a movie tonight, okay?”

Ignis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against the tension headache he could feel forming. Set a precedent, and it was going to be like this all week. Still, he was rather tired. It had been a long day. “I’ll make you a deal." He paused and leveled a look at the prince. "Finish your homework before Gladio arrives, and we’ll order that bacon-slathered monstrosity you both enjoy - _and_ I’ll join you for whatever testosterone-laden film you’ve picked out for the evening.” After all, they’d confiscated most of work he’d planned on taking home. What else did he have to do?

The prince groaned, his expression one of clear disgust. If only he hadn’t had the work out when Ignis had arrived. It wasn’t even due tomorrow! True, he only had five problems left, since Prom had helped him during study hall, but with Calculus, five problems could easily be five pages of work.

When he was king, he was definitely going to draft a law against Calculus. Just when was this ever going to be useful in real life?

“Fiiinnnnne,” he whined. “But when Gladio finds a dried up husk where my soul used to be, I’m telling him you’re responsible.”

Noctis counted it a victory when the brunette rolled his eyes, fond exasperation apparent. “Perish the thought.”

 

* * *

 

“Need any help?”

Ignis looked up from the peppers he was meticulously cubing, lips curving in a small smile at the sight of the blond hovering near the counter, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. There’s was something. . . not quite right. Something hazy. But he could still see the perfect clarity of violet-flecked eyes, freckles scattered across pale cheeks. His chest clenched, at once hollow and overflowing.

“Very well.” The words came out in his usual even tone, despite the tightness of his throat, the frantic fluttering of his heart beat. Grinning, the blond moved around to the other side of the counter, bare arm brushing against his as he reached for a knife. He was saying something, but the words were stretching out, echoing as though from far away. Distorting as though through a tunnel. Everything felt. Dizzy. Light headed. Aching. And then.

He was awake, probably. It was dark. Mostly dark. The glow of neon through the curtains hastily pulled over the floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the room. Fluttering softly in the breeze. He’d left the window open again. Ignis kept telling him. Can’t.

He groped blindly, disoriented as he gasped for air, only the slightest breath wheezing past the tightness in his throat. He heaved himself forward with a sudden burst of panic, tumbling off the sofa into the nearby end table, the pain of the glass edge against flesh and bone only a momentary sensation background to his heaving. As though from a distance, he heard the sound of glass breaking, felt a splash of wet, shirt sticking against his skin, the sensation like pins and needles.

Suddenly, everything was bright. Blinding. His body curled, wheezing soft around the edges. Muffled voices from far away, underwater. Hot hands against his back and suddenly something shook loose and he choked, hacking saturated pedals and whole buds and gasping in great gulps of air. The sound rushed back in, and in other circumstances, he would have been alarmed at the note of panic in a familiar voice. As it is, he could only breathe, stuttering breaths that tasted like salt and metal and were perhaps the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

Exhausted, he slumped into the sound of a steady voice, deep and mellow, the warmth of a hand against his spine, stroking back and forth. The feeling was soothing, and he was so tired,. He thought he’d close his eyes, just rest for a moment, but before he knew it he was drifting.

When he woke, everything was bright. Stark and sterile, his hands resting limply against starched sheets, the soft and steady beeping of machinery in the background. He flexed bandaged fingers, winced at the sensation, squinting into the brightness of the room as his eyes adjusted and the last vestiges of sleep fell away. For a long moment, he struggled toward full lucidity, but in short manner he came to recognize the fluff of dark hair near his feet, turned his head to meet soft brown eyes, a familiar crinkled face, patiently waiting with one hand resting lightly on the bed in front of him.

“Uncle Ven – ” He cut himself off by a round of coughing. His uncle helped prop him up against a few pillows, and he managed half a glass of water once his lungs had calmed down enough to try. After a moment, he set the glass aside, lightly rubbing at his bandaged fingers as he considered the situation.

Obviously, he was at the hospital. He remembered waking, choking for air, and winced. He’d been at Noct’s apartment. They’d been having a movie night, and he must have fallen asleep on the couch. He remembered they’d had pizza for dinner from that place that put cheese in the crust. The movie had been. . . utterly ridiculous. The hero had blown up a helicopter by launching a car at it, for goodness sakes. Whatever enjoyment one might have gotten from the explosions and the effects was surely ruined by the incredibly stilted romantic sub plot. All in all, certainly not the kind of movie he typically enjoyed.

Very well, then. If he’d been at the prince’s apartment, he supposed the game was up. The prince had been right there, a front row seat to the evidence that all was not, as he had claimed, very well and under control. He’d even broken one of his glasses in his fumbling about, if he recalled correctly. Difficult to deny the evidence with bloodstains in your carpet. He frowned. He was not looking forward the conversation he’d no doubt be having once the boy woke up. Perhaps he’d luck out and be back asleep himself by then. Or released. Get him out of this damnable hospital bed, and he could avoid the conversation for some time. He sighed.

“Now,” his uncle commented mildly, his tone awfully reasonable given the circumstances. “Didn’t the doctor tell you, the more you think about it, the worse it’s going to get? I’d hate to lose my favourite nephew mere days before the surgery that would save him.”

“I’m your only nephew.” Ignis knew what he was doing. Uncle Ventus was quite skilled at facing unpleasant situations with a lighthearted touch. Even when Ignis knew he was doing it, it still usually worked. “And I was _asleep_. It’s not as though it could be helped.”

The older man’s expression was downright mischievous. He looked as though someone had given him an early mid-winter’s present – and immediately, Ignis knew his mistake.

He sighed. “No, Uncle. Not like that.”

“Mmm.” It was the kind of non-committal sound his uncle did best – not quite agreement, or disapproval, or understanding, but not really neutral, either. Like he knew something you hadn’t figured out yet, and was just playing along until it bowled you over. Still smiling, the older man let the subject drop. “How are you feeling?”

Ignis took another slow drink of water. How was he feeling? His head and chest frankly hurt. His throat felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, though the roughness of his voice no doubt made that quite clear. He was tired, despite having only just woken up. It was rather obvious he wasn’t at his best.

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” Which, truth be told, was just a diplomatic way of saying terribly, but he certainly could be worse. He could be dead, for example. As is, he merely had to hold out a bit longer.

“They’ve moved up your surgery,” Ventus commented, sounding almost conversational. For typically being the more emotional of his uncles, it was startling how ordinary he made bad news feel. “Doctor Adamas will be here the day after tomorrow. Tellus will likely not be able to make it back in time, but he should be here by the time you wake.” It was the best that they could do, he knew, and in any case, he’d brought this on himself. Truly, he quite literally had. He would simply have to accept the consequences as they were.

“Mmmm,” he acknowledged. There wasn’t to say on the matter. It was what it was. At this point, he was just waiting. However that made him feel made no functional difference in the matter.

“Anyway, I’ll give you two a minute,” he older man quirked a small smile, patting his knee through the thin hospital blanket as he rose to his feet. Ignis looked to the end of the bed to see the dark haired boy stirring, blinking sleepily into the bright hospital room. After a moment, he seemed to realize the patient was awake and jerked into an upright position, scowling.

“Gods know I could use some coffee after the night we’ve had,” the older man added softly, half to himself, as he strode from the room, leaving Ignis with the beeping machines and the disgruntled prince. For a moment, Ignis only frowned, picking half-heartedly at the tape that held his IV drip in place before finding his resolve and lifting his gaze. There was no use putting it off.

“Highness, I – “

“What the actual fuck, Ignis!”

His mouth snapped closed, brow drawing together slightly at the nearly-shouted interruption. He knew the boy was going to be upset, but that was no reason to use such language. Particularly given that he was the prince and still very much in a public place.

“Noctis.” He carefully measured disappointment into his tone, gave the dark-haired prince a particular sort of look that told him, in no uncertain terms, he disapproved of his current behavior. That it was terribly inappropriate and unprincely and as such should cease immediately.

“No!” The prince rose, the line of his body drawn tight with frustration. “You don’t get to – to turn this into a lecture like I’m the one who did something wrong here!” Ignis had expected this, honestly. But he would not be chastised over a matter that was frankly none of the prince’s business – beyond, of course, how his health affected his ability to do his job. They were friends, yes. Like brothers, when push came to shove. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still have his privacy.

“Noctis.” It was surprisingly difficult to sound reasonable with his voice still this hoarse. His hands smoothed restlessly over the thin blanket that covered his legs, longing for the familiar motion of cleaning his glasses, fidgeting with their position on his face. When his uncle came back into the room, he’d have to ask where they’d ended up. His vision wasn’t _that_ terrible, truth be told. They were more for distances than close up, and under present circumstances, not strictly necessary. Still, they were at least familiar. “My prior comments stand – by this time next week, I’ll be well on my way to recovery and we can put this all behind us. The exact nature of my condition is hardly relevant.”

Blue eyes narrowed, the line of the boy’s jaw tightening in clear disagreement. It was _extremely_ relevant, as far as he was concerned, but he knew there was no arguing with his advisor once he’d settled his mind on something, no matter how absolutely mind-blowing and utterly heartbreaking that something was. He huffed irritably, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back into his seat.

The boy was clearly still angry, though whether it was over being lied to or the situation in itself, Ignis couldn’t say for sure. Both, if he had to guess. Noctis had never been very good when unpleasant things happened that were beyond his control.

“If I ever find out who thought you weren’t good enough for them,” the prince added sulkily, a muscle in his cheek twitching as his gaze focused deliberately on the far wall.

“Oh.” He was honestly flummoxed. This was not how he was expecting this conversation to go, though perhaps he should have. Noctis always had been exceedingly loyal. “You’ll throw them in the dungeons?” Ignis was a little slower on the uptake than perhaps was usual, but he nailed the intended acerbic tone. “Have them executed, perhaps?” Genuinely, he was touched, but the dark-haired boy had yet to master the art of always thinking before he spoke. He couldn’t afford to be careless with his words. “Loyalty is all well and good, but such behavior would be downright tyrannical. Is this how you wish to be remembered?”

The younger’s boy’s jaw flexed slightly. He was going to be stubborn about this, Ignis could tell. There was no helping it. It didn’t matter that he was right, or that Ignis was telling him something he already knew.

“Furthermore, I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding the situation.”

At the admission, the boy’s head jerked up, eyes wide. After a moment, they narrowed again, the dark-haired prince clearly processing the statement. He supposed it was quite reasonable how quickly he worked it through. After all, the key to Hanahaki, they found, was resolution. And if he had not been rejected, there was one logical alternative – that he hadn’t confessed at all. The truth.

“What. The Fuck.”

“Indeed.” Ignis had heard his uncle approaching, so he wasn’t terribly startled by his return, though the prince flinched slightly at the sound of his voice. “By all means, tell him what an absolute fool he is being – ” Ignis did flinch at that – “but it’s likely a wasted effort.” Ventus took a long sip from the steaming cup of coffee in his hand, watching the two boys with relative calm. He hadn’t planned to interrupt, but then he’d heard the prince yelling from down the hall.

Noctis Lucis Caelum was not an idiot, regardless of how he sometimes behaved. And Ignis was his oldest friend. He knew him well enough to understand that once he’d made up his mind, that was it. Still, it had never stopped him from trying to change it.

“Come on, Speccy. It can’t be that bad.”

And yet, oldest friend or no, Noctis was about the last person he was likely to confide in, when it came to this. But there was only so much he could say to reassure him. The situation was what it was, and now that that it was out in the open, there was no benefit to platitudes.

“Noctis.” He reached for the boy’s hand, taking it between both of his and smiling a little when the grip was immediately returned with fervor. “You will see, everything is going to be just fine.”

 

* * *

 

Time seemed to flow faster after that. While he was aware it was, after all, only a couple of days and as such not very much time at all, it still seemed as though the morning of his surgery came too quickly. Before he knew it he was simply waiting, passing the last bit of time before his operation. His uncle and Gladio were keeping him company in turns; Noctis had been refused the opportunity to join them. Ignis had been relieved, quite frankly, that the boy wouldn’t be missing school just to sit around the hospital and worry. Though he was close to graduating already, the prince’s studies were important.

The atmosphere of the room reflected his nerves. It had all been well and good until they’d come in to make the surgical site markings, and then suddenly it had been terrifying. He’d reminded himself that this was routine, the precise course of action he’d decided on, that he had complete confidence in. That Dr. Adamas had successfully completed numerous procedures just like this before, and he literally had the best of the best at his disposal. None of it helped. But then the nurse came to change his IV, gently reminding him the pre-surgical drugs would make him feel “a bit wonky,” so at least that was _something_.

It was something, that was for certain. He was unclear on how much time had passed when he noticed everything was. . . crooked. Just slightly off center – it was quite disturbing, actually. He tried leaning to the side, just enough to even things out, but that wasn’t helping at all. It just tilted back the other way. Frustrating.

“Hey, Iggy.” There was a large, warm hand against his shoulder, and his gaze lifted to amber eyes and an amused expression. “Just lay back and relax, okay?” He allowed the larger man to fluff his pillows, manhandle him into a reclining position before settling back in the chair next to the bed. They were alone in the room. Had his uncle abandoned them? No, of course not. Wherever he’d gone, no doubt he’d soon return. Uncle Ventus wouldn’t just _leave_. He blinked the wetness from his eyes, made an effort to focus on his friend sitting in front of him. Gladio. Gladiolus. Such an excellent friend, here at the hospital, keeping him company. He looked worried.

“You know, Iggy.” His voice was soft, hesitant. Grim. “It’s, uhm. If you’re having second thoughts, it’s not too late, okay?”

Too late? He leveled a look at the other male – or attempted to, as it didn’t seem to be having much of an effect – and frowned. “Pardon?” The word came out slightly slower than usual, thick with irritation.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, green to amber, then the larger man cracked a sudden grin, casting a thin veil of humour over the moment. “To declare your undying love for me, of course.”

Ignis snorted, an indelicate sound he wasn’t quite cognizant enough to feel embarrassed about. “I think you love yourself quite enough for the both of us.”

Gladio chuckled, despite himself, and for a moment they were both laughing and it felt . . . like maybe it was going to be okay. Still, their laughter died down, he clearly felt the need to press the issue. “Seriously, though. Last chance. If there’s any hope at all. . .”

Ignis rather thought the way his breath caught was answer enough. “I’ve made up my mind.” He was resigned to the choice he’d made. Just because the decision made him sad didn’t mean it wasn’t right.

The larger man sighed, shifted anxiously in his seat. “So you have.” Of course, he’d known what the advisor’s answer was going to be. But he’d still had to ask, one last time. It would have been nice to hear he’d changed his mind. Or even that he was ready to confide in someone – he didn’t even mind much if it wasn’t him. But of course this was Ignis-fucking-Scientia and that was just too sixdamn much to ask.

Ignis-fucking-Scientia was going to fall face first out of his bed and crack his head open, he didn’t chill the fuck out here. Six, what had they given him?

“I hope you’re not this bad during recovery,” he muttered, catching the man’s shoulder and nudging him upright again.

“You and me both, kid.” He glanced over his shoulder to see his friend’s uncle had returned, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Gladio sighed, scooted his chair closer to the bed, and only wondered how true that joke was, after all, that all Scientias bled coffee. At this point, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

 

* * *

 

Ignis woke. The world was soft, and though he recognized the dreadful industrial tiles that made up the ceiling, he had no recollection of how he had gotten there, or why. His limbs were leaden and there was a persistent burning in his chest, a dull and distant throbbing. His breath hitched – he attempted to move, with scarcely any results, and suddenly there was a familiar face leaning over him, a hand gently squeezing his shoulder, a voice that was both soft and urgent.

“Ignis? Are you with us?”

His tongue felt thick, and when he tried to speak , his voice came out on a rasp, followed by a cough. An arm slipped beneath him, leveraging him up enough to offer him a straw, and cool, soothing water. He drank greedily, not minding the slight tang of the liquid in his thirst, and sighed softly as he was settled back down. He wanted to stay awake. There was. . . some sense of urgency. But he was nodding off, jerking back awake the moment he was aware of it, then nodding off again.

“Shhhhhhh.” A hand gently brushed his hair back from his damp forehead, then continued to stroke slowly through his hair. It felt. Really nice. Soothing. “You’re okay. Rest now.” A pressure on his leg – a hand squeezing his knee in a familiar gesture of solidarity – and the lulling sensation of the hand in his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp.

Rest. That was. Yes? Yes. He was safe here. Everything was going to be alright.


	2. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> It's Monday, and we've decided that we're going to try and make Mondays a little better for people by posting chapters on Mondays, when we can.
> 
> Both of us were really happy with the reception we received on chapter one, so we're also hoping that you also like chapter two and beyond!
> 
> Below is the first chapter from Prompto's POV. Please enjoy! <3

"What about this one?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously!"

"Prompto." Noctis sighed. It was that deep sort of sigh that Prompto had gotten used to hearing, mostly about things like responsibility, and that meant it was normally aimed at some combination of Gladio and Iggy, depending on the day of the week. He wasn't used to it being aimed at _him_ , and it sort of made him falter a little, just for a moment, until Noct continued talking. "It's a fruit basket. They are all. The same."

"So not true! Look! This one has grapes, this one has apples instead of oranges, and this one just has a ton of oranges."

Noct looked, more glanced, really, at the fruit baskets on display, all while shaking his head. "I don't even understand why you think you need a fruit basket anyway."

"Dude! It's what you do when someone's been sick!"

"But why? Wouldn't you rather have, I don't know, a cake basket?"

"...Is that a basket full of cakes or a basket made with cake?"

Noctis leveled him with an unamused stare. "I'm leaving now," he declared, even as he went to turn and walk out the automatic doors.

"No! Wait for me!" Prompto hastily picked out the basket with extra oranges in it, and ran up to the counter. By the time he was handing over the money for his purchase, Prompto's heart was pounding in his chest. What if Ignis didn't like oranges? What if he would have preferred the one with apples instead? What if his hands were too weak to even peel an orange? Or the bananas, for that matter? What if Ignis hated it? What if--?

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the change back and stuffing the fruit basket under one arm.

He found Noct waiting for him outside the automatic doors, phone out, probably busy whacking away at monsters. He wasn't able to tell for sure, because the second Noct realized he was there, the phone was turned off and shoved back into his pocket. "I see you finally picked."

"And I see you waited for me, you softie."

Noct's eyes flicked up toward the sky, his shoulders hunching up to his neck, just for a second. "Yeah, only 'cause you don't know how to get to Specs' place." It was a joke, a jab, a shield, and they both knew it, but it made Prompto's heart hammer away in his chest again all the same. Someday, he knew, Noct wouldn't wait, no matter whether Prompto knew where he was going or not. After all, Noctis was a prince, and he was a nothing. It was all Prompto was going to be able to do to make sure that "someday" was as far away as possible.

They fell into step, their footsteps a somewhat jumbled sound with Noct's steps a bit slower than his own. It was kind of weird. There were days when Noct and he walked together, usually when they went to the arcade or off to do some other mundane sort of thing that Noct didn't get to do normally, but the rest of the time, Ignis showed up and whisked Noctis off for some princely task or another. It was extra weird to realize that Ignis wouldn't be showing up to do that for a little while. He'd just had surgery, after all. One did not just walk off a surgery. Not even Ignis could do that.

Prompto clutched the fruit basket a little tighter. "He's gonna be okay, right?"

"Who, Specs?"

"Duh. Who else would I be asking about right now?"

"He'll be fine. He's already out of the hospital. Just gotta keep him in bed long enough to actually heal enough to get a curative."

"That's gonna be the hard part, isn't it?" It was Ignis after all, Ignis could hardly be persuaded to watch a movie with them after cooking. The idea of him being on bed rest...oof. Prompto was almost sure he'd try to be up in less than a day. Too soon.

Noctis snorted his agreement with laughter. "Yeah. Definitely."

Prompto didn't actually know what Ignis had needed surgery for. Noct hadn't told him, and that sort of meant he wasn't supposed to ask. It was probably a privacy thing, like if Ignis wanted him to know, he'd tell him, and Noct was just respecting that. Probably. There was also the possibility that it was an actual national security kind of thing, and it was sort of hush-hush, so Prompto couldn't know. The third option was that Noct just didn't want to tell him, and that idea kind of hurt. Of course, it did also kind of hurt to think that Ignis wouldn't want to tell him what it was.

At first, Prompto had found Ignis to be even more intimidating than Gladio. Gladio was all threatening muscles and cracking knuckles, but Ignis just had this disapproving stare that made everyone except Noctis himself quiver in their shoes. At first, Prompto had dreaded seeing Ignis at all, but then, little by little, he'd warmed up. Now, occasionally, Ignis even made food that Prompto specifically liked. Now, Prompto got to hear his terrible but laughable puns and see his carefully guarded smile. It was an honor, really, just as much of an honor as it was that Noctis now called him a friend.

Prompto didn't think Ignis would go so far as to call them friends, but Prompto liked to pretend they were, at least a little. Truth be told, in his secret heart of hearts, Prompto felt a bit more than friendship toward the guy, but Ignis was older, and important, and. No. There was no hope on that front. Pretending that they were at least mildly friends would have to do. At least friendly. Friendly enough that, yeah, the idea that something really serious had gone down, and Ignis didn't want Prompto to know what it was kind of hurt, but he supposed there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew Ignis didn't feel the same way about him.

He'd just take what little bits and pieces he could get. Right now, that meant following Noct to where Ignis lived, offering up a get well soon fruit basket, and hoping that Ignis didn't kick him all the way out the door while he was still half medicated from his procedure.

"Stop brooding. He's fine." Noct sighed, shoving at his shoulder, showing just how distracted Prompto had become. "It was a routine kind of deal. Happens all the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Noctis huffed, but when he fell back into complete silence after that, Prompto found that he couldn't be sure that this was really the whole truth. Noctis was a little bit of a brooder himself, but not usually like this. Prompto remembered that not long ago, Ignis had been ill. He remembered a night when Ignis had been hit by a fit of coughing so intense they'd heard it over their game. He'd been worried then, but it hadn't happened again, so he'd let it slip from his mind. Had that illness lingered too long? Had it grown into something more serious? Noct said it was routine, and yeah, maybe that really was true, but that didn't mean it hadn't been a big deal, or something really serious.

Noctis didn't talk again until they'd gone past the apartment building he lived in, down three more streets oozing with people, and to another, even fancier looking building that Gladio was standing outside of. "You been up to see him yet?" Noct asked the moment they were close enough that he wouldn't have to yell.

"Nah, I was waiting for you two. Unified front of comfort and all that."

"I'm pretty sure 'unified front' is what they say about parenting."

Gladio only shrugged, "Might as well be the same thing to Iggy."

Prompto tried not to trail too far behind them as they made their way inside the apartment building and to the elevator, but it was hard when the building really was quite fancier than Noct's. It even had a chandelier in the common area, like it was a hotel and not an apartment building. It was a victory that he could honestly say that Noctis hadn't had to say hurry up at any point before he made it into the elevator. Gladio pushed the floor button (the one with a little 6 on it), and they went up and up and up until it came to that sort of stop that always made Prompto's stomach drop. It wasn't like he liked elevators anyway, with their small space that there was no way out of while it was moving, but those little lurches at the beginning and end that made your stomach do that little flip were the worst parts of the ride.

The elevator blissfully opened, after the terrifying thought that it wouldn't had already drifted into Prompto's mind, and they all shuffled out onto the plush red and gold carpet. It wasn't like old hotel carpet that looked like it constantly needed to be cleaned or replaced, this was clearly new, and clearly demonstrated the part of the city they were in. The doors too were painted a crisp yet soft cream color with the door numbers in bright polished gold.

They stopped in front of a door that read "52" in that same polished gold plating, and Gladio knocked. It was so unlike the places he delivered to for his part time job where you didn't walk past security to get into the building, but instead couldn't even get inside until you pressed a little buzzer and someone deigned to press their unlock button and they knew to expect someone up to their place in a moment's time.

It was moments like these that always made Prompto feel the stark difference between the two parts of his life. There was _this_ part that was bright, beautiful, and luxurious, even when it was just those moments when he was in Noct's apartment playing video games. Then there was what Prompto considered to be the _real_ world that was sleek, but gritty and dirty, where people were tired all the time, and life went on in a sort of monotonous drone, knowing that this was as good as it got. School sat somewhere between the two, but even so, Prompto didn't think Noct, Gladio, or Ignis had any idea what that side of life was really...like, and yet, it was this part of life, the bright shining part, that terrified Prompto down to tips of his toes.

He clutched the fruit basket in his arms all the more tightly, until the door opened they were faced with a man who looked...absolutely nothing like Ignis. Brown was a good word for him. His skin was "tan," his eyes were brown, his hair even browner, and all of that made him very much not the sort of person you expected to see in this sort of setting. Gladio was about as "brown" as was reasonably expected, but even he was clearly a native to Lucis and Insomnia. The man before him was clearly not a native in any sense of the word, from the colors of his being, to the bright colors of his clothes, this man was not from Insomnia, and that, for a second, made Prompto sure they'd gotten the wrong apartment, until the man grinned, full of bright teeth, perhaps...too many teeth, and said "Here to visit Iggy, are you?"

Noct grumbled an agreement, at the same time that Gladio quipped, "That's us, the Get Well Soon Brigade."

"Come on in then." The man moved to one side and let them all wander in through the door before he closed it behind them. "Iggy's awake right now, and I'm sure he'll be happy to see you all. Tellus is asleep though. Tragic victim of jet lag."

"I bet," Gladio nodded with a soft sigh. "I'd be dead to the world too."

The man (Ignis' Uncle? Maybe? But Prompto had thought his uncle's name was Tellus, and it had already been said that Tellus was asleep. Ahhh, then who was this?!) beamed at Gladio like sunlight in the early afternoon, and then those warm eyes turned to him. "Is that for Iggy?" It took Prompto a moment too long to realize that hands were being held out, and that he was being asked about the fruit basket. He jerked a little startled despite himself, and then, too late to be socially acceptable, he nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, you know, traditional." Hands were still being held out, and Prompto got the overwhelming urge to turn and leave, despite having just gotten here. He was such a social klutz. Just. Hand. It. Over. Now. All at once, his arms finally obeyed his brain, and the fruit basket practically tumbled out of his arms into the man's waiting ones. "Sorry."

"It's no trouble at all." With that smile on his face, Prompto almost believed him. "It was very thoughtful of you to bring one at all. A very good boy." With the basket balanced precariously on one arm, the man reached out and patted his cheek affectionately, and, honestly, just, honestly, Prompto had no idea how to react to that.

He settled on "Thanks?"

Behind him, Noctis snorted, and Prompto bit back the urge to step on his foot and to tell him to shut up.

The man smiled even more brightly up at him, and then nodded his head in what Prompto could only assume was the direction of Ignis' room. "Off you lot go then, but be careful, he's still wonky from the medication." He _bounced_ off then, his colorful being disappearing into another room entirely.

"So. Uh. Who was that?"

"Ventus," Noct supplied, "Specs' uncle."

"I thought...Tellus was his uncle? He has two uncles? Do they both live here?"

"Y-yeah," Noctis was trying (and failing) to bite back a laugh, and Prompto turned to glare back at him. He was just trying to understand! But of course, Noct only chortled a bit more, before he said, "Prompto, they're _gay_."

"What?!"

Noctis erupted into full on laughter that he had the dignity to hide behind a hand, while to his other side, Gladio folded his arms over his chest defensively. "That's not gonna be a problem, is it?"

"No! I--Just--" It felt like the shelves that kept his mind neat an organized had been shoved over and he couldn't find a single word to defend himself with. "I'm surprised!" he managed at last, and then ducked his head down, lip worrying between his teeth. "That's all." What kind of person would he be if he were prejudiced against gay people? He wasn't exactly straight himself! Not that he could say that. In fact, he'd spent quite a bit of time making sure no one knew he liked...both. To a lot of people, liking _both_ was even worse than being homosexual.

"You gotta forgive Gladio," Noct said, still laughing underneath the words. "They've gotten a lot of flack, you know? Especially up here, where there are _rules_." He watched Noctis roll his eyes, and then he clapped him on the shoulder. Yeah, Prompto supposed that was true. Even among the normal population there were still quite a few prejudices against same-sex couples. It was less than it had been even ten years ago, he knew, but they still couldn't get married.

"How long have they been together?"

"Hm. As long as I can remember?"

"Longer," Gladio replied. "Before we were born, I think." That was a long time, and Ignis had been raised by his uncle (uncles, he guessed), right? So they were both probably as good as parents to him. He wondered if Ignis had ever been bullied for it. If so, he didn't show it. Ignis was always so perfect and put together. That too, was probably something he'd gotten from one of his uncles. He knew Tellus worked at the citadel, so...yeah. Something he'd probably learned from him.

"Come on," Noctis said, interrupting Prompto's thoughts. "I'll show you to his room." Prompto nodded, rather than spoke, and then pussyfooted behind them as Noctis led the way. When he glanced over, he saw that the room Ventus had disappeared into was the kitchen, and that Ventus himself was inside, stirring something. If Ignis had gotten his organized perfectionism from Tellus, perhaps, just perhaps, he'd gotten his cooking skills from Ventus.

Prompto spared a glance around the rest of the apartment as they passed, and found it to be...not what he expected. He'd expected utilitarian, sterile, and a lot of white. What he got instead was warmth. Reds, browns, and greens were dominant. The couch they passed was plush, and there were several throws that looked homemade and lovingly knitted folded and draped over the sides and tops of things. Homey. Cozy. Not at all what he'd been expecting. Not at all like his or Noct's own places.

The room Noct led them to was dark, and so Prompto couldn't really tell what kind of colors are in the room, but a glance around told him that this was a child's room, or perhaps it had been a child's room, the sort of child's room that the occupant had never quite had the heart or time to transform fully into an adult's room. There was a desk that had papers and books on it, but Prompto could also see shelves that had toys and figurines carefully placed. It was rather odd, to think that Ignis had truly once been a child, but here was the proof that he too had been a kid once, and the proof that he'd definitely been raised by his uncles. With love. Prompto could see a lot of love here.

Ignis himself lay in a bed that somehow seemed too small for him, near the room's only window. It was piled high with blankets in an already warm room that made Prompto uncomfortable to look at. Comfy, cozy, but too warm. He'd be sweating bullets within minutes, but in the bed, Ignis himself seemed...fine? Too pale. Ignis was already pale, like, really pale. So was Noct, but at least he knew Noct got his daily vitamin D. He'd never been quite sure that Ignis spent enough time outside, and to see him in the semi-darkness only made him look paler, sicklier.

It made Prompto's heart hurt.

Ignis' eyes were closed, and, for a second, Prompto thought he'd fallen asleep. For a second, he thought to suggest that they leave him to his rest, but then his eyes creaked open, and he sighed, head lolling away from them, as though just looking in their direction was too much for him. "Highness." His voice grated and rasped out of his throat as though every syllable was a fight. It probably was. "You did not need to come."

"Yeah, I did," Noctis grouched back, "So you can shut it with that bullshit right now."

"Language, Highness."

"Uh, Noct? Don't you think you should go a little easy on him? He did just have surgery."

The moment he spoke, narrowly open green eyes turned themselves on him, and even through he looked pale and weak, the force of that glare made Prompto feel weak in the knees. "Highness, I would appreciate it if you did not bring strangers into my home." Actually being punched in the stomach would have hurt less than those words. In fact, the whole of the floor seemed to drop out from beneath him, and he must have actually wobbled a little, because he felt Gladio's hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

"I'm...I'm just gonna step out."

"Hey, no," Noct's hand caught his elbow even as Gladio's hand slipped from his shoulder. "It's just the medication. You know that, right? He's just not seeing you right or something."

"It's okay," Prompto lied. "I don't wanna stress him out. I'll just wait outside." That part was true anyway. He really didn't want to stress Ignis out. He wanted Ignis to get better, and right now, that meant him leaving the room for multiple reasons. One of those reasons being so that he didn't start to cry right here in front of all of them.

He tugged at his arm, and Noct let him go. "We probably won't be too long here. Wait for us?"

"Sure thing." Like he was even going to go out into the hall without people who actually _belonged_ here. Nosiree, not him. "I'll be waiting."

The walk to the door seemed like it was a mile long, during which Ignis asked, "I can't seem to recall what I was ailing from, it's still a haze, would you be so kind as to--"

"It was a minor procedure," Noctis spat out with some depth of bitterness Prompto wasn't sure he'd ever heard in his friend's voice before. "Just a small growth in your lungs."

The door clicked shut behind him, and all the talking inside the room became nothing more than a muffled mumble. For a long instant, Prompto considered just waiting right there for them, awkwardly lingering around the door, but he decided against it and drifted back toward the living room that still seemed too warm and cozy compared to his expectations of the place where _Ignis Scientia_ lived.

Now, more than ever before, he felt out of place here. He didn't belong here. Why had he come? Of course Ignis didn't want him here, in his personal space, at such a vulnerable time. He leaned against the wall, pushing himself back against it as though if he pushed hard enough he'd melt into it, and he wouldn't bother anyone ever again. He more than half wished he could.

Prompto stared down at his shoes. His toes were moving around anxiously inside them, even though you couldn't see it. Should he have taken off his shoes? He hadn't even noticed if Gladio and Noctis had or not. He'd been too focused on Ventus. Idiot.

"There's a couch for a reason," came a voice too close to his ear, and Prompto startled before he looked up at Ventus' face and that _smile_. "Go sit. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Prompto lied again, pushing himself up off the wall, and walking around the couch. He didn't want to sit. He didn't want to sit here, in this place that was obviously carefully crafted as a home. Intruder. That's all he was here. One glance at Ventus told him it wasn't really optional though. He was going to sit on their perfect family couch. Intrude more on their perfect family space. He sat. It was soft, and he wanted to run. "I'm fine."

"The word or the acronym?"

That eked a genuine laugh out of Prompto's throat. That he hadn't been expecting. "The word."

"Hm," Ventus hummed, and Prompto suddenly knew where Ignis had gotten that from. "I'm going to go get you a muffin, and then maybe you'll want to talk."

Ventus disappeared back into the kitchen, and emerged about ten seconds later carrying two muffins, one of which was handed off to him before Ventus sat himself down on the couch next to Prompto, almost close enough that they were touching, but not quite. Not quite. "Eat. If life has taught me anything, it's that we should eat our emotions. Good or bad. There's always food."

Prompto took his time peeling off the paper. The muffin itself was still slightly warm in his hands, and it was faintly orange, both in color and in scent. When he bit into it, after what seemed like an eternity of procrastinating about it, he got both fluffy orangey muffin and a sharper taste of... "Cranberry?"

"Tis the season," Ventus quipped. "Pumpkin spice was last month, and now it's orange-cranberry. How does it taste?"

"Amazing." Which was truthful. He could tell that he was going to have to run extra tomorrow morning to work it off, but it warmed him inside out both with the fruit flavors and the more subtle spices he could taste. "Thanks."

"I'll send you home with some in a bit, so don't you thank me just yet." Ventus took a bite of his own muffin before asking, "Now, what happened? And don't say nothing, I've got a bullshit detector a mile wide."

Prompto gave an awkward little chuckle, after all, nothing had been exactly what he'd been about to say, but apparently that was off the table now. "It's just...what you warned us about." He shrugged, taking another bite to stall. "The medicine's got him all wonky, and he didn't recognize me."

"He didn't?" Prompto shook his head, filling his mouth with muffin again that this time he didn't really taste. "Prompto, right?"

"Yeah? That's me?" Did Ignis talk about him? He didn't imagine so. He wasn't like Gladio or Noct. He...he wasn't important. Clearly, but if his Uncle Ventus knew his name, then he had to at least mention him from time to time, right? Ah, but it was probably just about him being around Noct. Or how annoying he was. He knew he was, sometimes, when he got too pushy, or smiled too much at the wrong time.

He wasn't smiling right now. He needed to start smiling again before Noctis and Gladio came back out, or he was going to annoy them too.

"I thought you might be Prompto, and it's good to finally meet you. I hear you've been a good friend to Noctis."

"Did Iggy really say that?"

"Not in so few words, but that's what I got out of it. I know it hurt, that," Ventus jerked his head off toward the hallway, "But let me tell you, Prompto, it'll be okay. I am positive my nephew did not mean to hurt you."

"I know," Prompto whispered. Ignis hadn't meant to, it was just the medicine talking, but it hurt anyway.

A door down the hall opened, and Prompto shoved the rest of the muffin into his mouth as though he had to hide the evidence from Noct and Gladio. It was a bad move on his part, there was too much muffin for his mouth to handle, and he was sure that he looked ridiculous as his friends came into view. Sure enough, Noctis snorted, a sort of half smile on his face. "Don't choke."

"Not funny," Gladio scolded.

"Come on, kinda funny."

"All done?" Ventus asked as he stood up, his hands brushing off his pants, not that there had been anything on them.

"Yeah," Noct drawled. "Specs fell asleep on us." Prompto couldn't help but smile a little to himself, that would definitely horrify Ignis later, when he was of a clearer head. He'd fallen asleep on guests. How rude. "And that's probably good, right?"

"The more he sleeps, the sooner he'll feel better," Ventus agreed. "Hold tight for a second, boys. I'll go make up goody bags."

"You don't have to!" Gladio called after him, even though Ventus was already gone back into the kitchen that Prompto suspected was a whole different space from the rest of the apartment.

"Of course I don't!" Ventus called back, "If I had to, I wouldn't."

Gladio chuckled, and out of nowhere, Noct's arms appeared in Prompto's peripheral vision from over the top of the couch. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" He said back, perhaps a little too quickly to be totally natural sounding. "It, just, you know, shocked me, for him to call me a stranger."

"Nah, don't worry about it, okay? He probably won't even remember he did that two days from now. Non-issue. Except maybe that you tease him about it."

"I'm not gonna tease him! He's high on meds!"

"Your loss," Noct shrugged, just before Ventus returned carrying three bags stuffed with what Prompto assumed was a whole bunch of orange-cranberry muffins. One bag was given to each of them, accompanied by a pat of some sort. Noct's on the head, Gladio on the shoulder, and Prompto once again received one on the cheek. It didn't escape Prompto's notice that his smile never wavered. Ventus was better at smiling through it all than he was. Prompto wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or depressed by that.

After being bid farewell and told to come again soon (Prompto was pretty sure he was never coming back to this apartment ever again), he followed Noct and Gladio back to the dreaded elevator and out the front doors onto the noisy streets of rush hour. "I was thinking maybe we'd order pizza and head back to my place?" Noct's voice was hopeful, and Prompto knew that he was really upset over Ignis, but today, right now, he couldn't muster up the will to be the happy and cheerful friend Noct needed and deserved, so he shook his head.

"Sorry, I got homework, and so do you, buster." He managed a teasing grin, which earned him a smile in return. That counted as a victory, even if only a small one.

"It can wait."

"Dude, no. There's history in the pile tonight. I'm gonna die."

Noct opened his mouth, probably to suggest that Ignis could help him if he really needed it, but, of course, Ignis wasn't going to be there, so he shut it again for a moment. "Tomorrow then?"

Prompto thought he would probably be up to being his usual self by tomorrow, and so he nodded. "Definitely tomorrow."

They walked back part of the way together, but Noct's apartment was a lot closer to Ignis' home than his own house was, so they went their different ways long before Prompto was actually fishing his keys out of his bag. The inside of his house was dark, but he called down into it anyway. "I'm home!" Of course, no answer was returned, and Prompto sighed, shuffling his shoes off his feet. Normally the emptiness of his house was somewhere between just an everyday thing and a sad thing, but today he was somewhere more between sad, because he wanted to be comforted by his parents, and relieved, because he also didn't want anyone to have to see him this upset.

He checked his phone on the way to the kitchen, but it too was devoid of any parental messages. Of course it was, it wasn't their calling day, and it wasn't like his parents could sense when he wanted or needed them. He could try to call them, but he knew there would be no answer. They'd call back, of course they would, but by then he'd be ashamed and asleep. Maybe asleep. Definitely ashamed.

Ventus' muffins were carefully arranged under his mother's normally empty cake dome. One a day, he told himself as he carefully placed the dome in a spot on the counter where it wouldn't get knocked off. He'd allow himself one a day until they were gone. He'd savor them, because they were good, and because he was never going to get any muffins like that again. A traitorous thought slinked into his mind.

He was never going to eat Ignis' cooking again either. After all. He was just a stranger.

"Shit!" He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, pushing back the tears that wanted to form. No. Don't be stupid, it was the medication, and soon enough, Ignis was going to back at work, and...yeah. He'd definitely been wrong. Ignis didn't view him as anything even resembling a friend, but they weren't strangers. Even if Ignis only put up with him because of Noct, they weren't strangers, and things would go back to normal soon enough.

But that wasn't how his heart felt right now.


	3. Ignis

Ignis, frankly speaking, was frustrated. He felt entirely out of the loop, and considering the subject matter was his own health, it was aggravating to the extreme. It was clear he’d undergone some kind of medical procedure, though evidently no one was remotely willing to tell him what for. Uncle Tellus had just looked sad when he’d asked, and Uncle Ventus asserted it was “just the kind of thing he had to figure out for himself” – which was just about the most bizarre response he could imagine. His medications were entirely unhelpful as clues – antibiotics, which were pretty standard given the circumstances, and enough painkillers to knock him out for a few days, at least. The closest he’d gotten to any kind of answer was Noct’s rather resentful assertion that he had “just a small growth in his lungs,” which in itself had been a rather vague statement, not to mention the prince’s tone had been plenty bitter enough to suggest it had been more than, verbatim, “a minor procedure.”

Well, then. If this was something he had to figure out for himself, then that was damned well what he was going to do.

Ignis had received his first curative that morning, and if all went well, he’d receive another that evening, then be left to heal the remaining damage naturally. In the meantime, Ignis had a plan. While Uncle Tellus had secured a little time off following his return to Insomnia, so long as there were no immediate complications with his nephew’s health, he was to return to work that day. Ignis intended to accompany him. He had no illusions that he would be allowed to return to work so soon himself; the Citadel library was his goal. Not that he necessarily needed it for the research he intended to focus on - his laptop would likely be sufficient for the tasks at hand – but after just two days in bed, he was already half-desperate for a change of scenery, particularly as he was feeling, if not exactly 100 percent, much improved. In short, he did not wish to lie in bed and bemoan his continued recovery. He desired the opportunity to dress properly, to settle in at the library, and to get to work.

Uncle Tellus was reluctant. Ignis had expected that reaction, but Tellus Scientia was a rational man, and as such susceptible to Ignis’s reasoning that, should any difficulties arise, he would be closer to the Citadel infirmary and a competent doctor than he would be lying in bed at his uncles’ apartment. Furthermore, with the library fully staffed, he would at no time be completely alone. His uncle clearly wasn’t thrilled about it, but he couldn’t argue with logic. Ignis’s argument made sense and he knew it. He reluctantly agreed – though with the amendum that Ignis would acquire assistance the moment he needed it, even if assistance was merely finding someone to carry a heavy book or reach a high shelf. Furthermore, he would under no circumstances allow pride or embarrassment to give him pause if he began to feel poorly, or tired, or in any way under the weather. Ignis made these promises easily. They were a small price to pay for a change in location and ample resources to puzzle out the issue at hand.

Uncle Tellus accompanied him personally to the library, brow furrowed just so at Ignis’s somewhat slower pace, the way his breath labored as they made their way up the Citadel steps. Ignis hated seeing that expression on the man, who had for as long as he could remember been the very picture of cool calm. He was likely having second thoughts, and was unmistakably hesitant to leave him even settled in with his laptop in a cozy nook at the library. In the end, an older librarian shooed the man away with a wink in Ignis’s direction and soft reassurances that they could look after the boy just fine in his absence, thank you very much. Relief that it was for the man to be on his way, it felt a bit patronizing as well.

But after five hours with his laptop and a biological encyclopedia one of the clerks had insisted on retrieving for him, Ignis had his answer. He thought he did, at least. He was almost certain. The pieces seemed to fit, even if the diagnosis was a bit difficult to swallow. After all, he had the name of his doctor, who turned out to be a specialist from Tenebrae in a very specific field. There was the obvious physical confirmation that the problem area was his chest – or more specifically, his lungs. It certainly fit the rather sarcastic definition of “just a small growth in his lungs,” as the prince had put it. Ignis could only guess that he had downplayed the situation when it presented itself and now the prince was holding a grudge. That was . . . likely fair, he supposed.

But perhaps more importantly, if he’d indeed had Hanahaki disease, than over whom? Ignis could only assume someone completely inappropriate, given his decision to have the surgery. Or perhaps surgery had been the only option remaining to him, he couldn’t say. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d developed feelings for someone who had no interest in returning them. He thought most likely it was someone he worked with, which meant, as much as he question nagged at him, he was not likely to find an answer until after he'd returned to his duties. Not unless he'd confided in someone on the matter, though if he had, they weren’t exactly eager to come forward and shed light on the situation. No, he would guess he had kept it to himself. He had always preferred to keep his personal matters private.

Very well. He would put that matter aside for the moment, and in time, the question would answer itself. His brain could certainly use a break from that rather stressful conclusion, anyway. Better to let it marinate for a time so he could attempt to unpack it later in a more private setting – after all, there must be other clues. Surely, he could at least reason out a few possibilities. And he did have one other matter on his agenda to look into that day, regardless.

“Prompto Argentum.” He had scarcely logged into the system and pulled up an electronic copy of the boy’s profile when he heard the familiar voice behind him. He sighed. Of course, he’d heard Gladiolus approaching. And of course the other man was pulling up a chair.

“Come on, Iggy.” The shield gave a familiar grin, though the furrow of his brow betrayed his unease. “I told you we already looked into this guy.”

So they had, it seemed. After all, the blond hadn't run his own background check. “Pardon me for verifying that myself,” he commented, leveling a half-hearted glare at the larger man. They’d only spoken briefly about the blond, who had, it seemed, been hanging around His Highness for quite some time. How Noctis had managed to hide that, he couldn’t imagine.

“And it took you until 2 o’clock. to get to that?” Gladio turned his chair around backwards, because of course he did, and leaned his arms against the back. “Have you even eaten?”

“I was researching other matters.” The file was mostly unremarkable. He seemed an ordinary boy, beyond the obvious foreign heritage. Adopted at a young age, no criminal record, a few standard trips to the hospital for stitches and a broken leg in what he could speculate were the usual childhood accidents. Average grades overall, though particularly high in math and low in history. Note of a part time job or two. Nothing alarming in any sense of the word, except perhaps. . . “What’s this?” He pulled up an older document in the file, which was, frankly speaking, more blacked out boxes than text. Redacted.

“Don’t bother looking the file up; it’s beyond both our clearance levels.” For such a suspicious statement, Gladio sounded remarkably casual. “Cor said it was nothing to worry about, though.”

“Well, then, if _The Marshall_ thinks it’s nothing to worry about,” he muttered somewhat sarcastically, clicking impatiently back through the other pages for any hint of what the missing information might refer to. There was nothing, of course.

“Feeling a little cranky there, Iggy? A little hangry, maybe?” The man seemed entirely too amused by his reaction, but then, he’d had many years to accustom himself to the advisor’s moods. “Have you been locked up in here all day?”

He frowned. Perhaps Gladio had a point. He was rather hungry, now that he thought about it. It was a touch irritating, though, for him to waltz in here and point as much out. Not that he could hide it from Gladio. He already had that knowing expression on his face, though it was more soft and understanding than the smugness he’d usually get.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he warned. Bad enough that a librarian had been checking in on him on the hour, every hour – yes, he’d noticed, even if he’d been polite enough to pretend he was too absorbed in his research to have done so. Old friend or no, he would not appreciate being treated like a child.

“Maybe so,” he responded with easy charm, “but I missed lunch, and I was thinking paninis sounded really damn good.” He groaned longingly, making a show of rubbing his stomach. “You know I hate going to that place by myself. That barista just _cannot_ take a hint.”

Ignis scoffed. As though Gladiolus Amicitia needed his presence to scare off unwelcome attention – though it was true, the young lady in question tended to leave him alone when he had company. Never-the-less, it was clearly an excuse manufactured to save face, and likely the best one he was going to get.

“Very well,” he agreed. “Perhaps it is time for a break. I would certainly hate to leave you at the mercy of the wiles of yet another attractive woman who wants you in her chambers.”

“Good man!” Gladio clapped him on the shoulder, reaching for the book he’d left sitting open on the table in front of him before he’d even caught his balance. “You done with this?”

“Quite.” He logged out of the system, shut down his laptop and slid it into its bag. He wasn’t allowed back in his office yet – as though even stepping upon the premises meant he was going to immerse himself in neglected reports – so the device would simply have to come with him. But before he could pull the strap over his shoulder, Gladio snatched the bag from his hands, grinning shamelessly at his token protest. Of course he was going to insist on carrying his things. The man was _such_ an alpha male sometimes.

Still, he’d been right, at least on one point. Paninis made for a satisfying late lunch, and the scones and sherbet they’d gotten for dessert were simply divine. He rather thought he could duplicate the recipe later, with a little work. . . and perhaps a few minor improvements. It was a pleasant enough distraction from unpleasant revelations.

More importantly, he’d gotten the man to talk a bit more about the blond. After all, the boy had been hanging about His Highness for months, at least, and Gladio had clearly spent some time around him. It had been enlightening to hear him speak of the boy’s earnestness, his enthusiasm, and his determination. . . among other things. Even when he spoke of the boy’s negative traits – his tendency to distract his highness into doing foolish or irresponsible things, for example, or the way he got a little too hyperactive when certain large yellow birds came up in conversation in absolutely any manner. . . Even then, Gladio sounded a bit soft, just a little tender, and each point came with an anecdote that left the larger man more amused than annoyed. It was highly suspicious that the boy had won His Highness’s shield over so quickly.

Either that, or His Highness – and Gladiolus, for that matter – had known the boy quite a bit longer than they were letting on. And they had hidden him, all this time. He didn’t rightly know which was the the more troubling possibility.

Regardless, Ignis would see the boy again soon and be able to decide for himself. After all, the day had gone remarkably well, overall. Yes, he was still a bit short of breath at times, and certainly, he was flagging far earlier than was his norm, but his reason was sound, his reflexes intact – tested, evidently, by Gladio’s continued efforts to flick escaped toppings at him over lunch, the heathen. He was approved for light duty, at least. No meetings. No holing himself up in his office with paperwork. A continued reprieve from his Crownsguard training. Just looking after His Highness, such as it was, enough to ascertain he wasn’t drowning in his own filth – though Uncle Tellus had been quick to add that he better not find out Ignis was straining himself cleaning the boy’s apartment, and yes, he knew, everyone knew about that. Leave the deep cleaning for a while longer, please, or they would be forced to call in a cleaning crew to take the task off his hands. For that alone, Ignis would abstain – Noctis would hate the breach in privacy.

It wasn’t quite the full return to duty he longed for, but _six_ , it was a start. He would take what he could get.

Ignis arrived bright and early at the prince’s apartment. Though he had always been an early riser, he had more difficulty than he’d care to admit getting up and going that morning. He was a touch groggier than usual, though a hot shower and a mug of rich, dark coffee made an excellent start towards his usual routine. He’d been told he should probably take it a easy on the coffee until he was finished healing, but frankly speaking, he had absolutely zero intention of doing that. He saw no reason why a little caffeine might have any significant negative effect on his lungs, of all things. If anything, he would imagine the opposite, given its similarity to theophylline, which was known to open the airways. Granted, with his limited memory of the matter, there may be more at play than he was aware of, but simply put, he wasn’t entirely sure life was worth living without coffee. He was absolutely sure he didn’t want to find out.

Soon enough, he was out the door, thermos in hand – a touch slower than usual, perhaps, but not bad timing overall. Certainly not so terribly late as to make a tangible difference on his schedule, particularly given that he had no meetings to be late to or paperwork to attend. So long the prince was dressed, fed, and at class on time, all was well given the scope of his current duties. And it was a short enough distance from his apartment to the boy’s – that was, after all, why he’d gotten an apartment at all. To be on hand if the prince needed him. The prince himself had been less than thrilled when he’d learned his advisor would be residing in the same building on a nearly full-time basis. Surprised, no, not at all, but not exactly ecstatic.

Much like Uncle Ventus had been when he’d informed him, quite politely thank you, that he’d be spending the night in his own apartment. Eventually, the man had agreed, though under the somewhat dubious condition that he check in via text in the morning, as well as after dropping the prince off at school, and several additional times throughout the day. Ignis understood it was for the man’s peace of mind, but realistically, he couldn’t imagine such precautions would be of much use if he did develop complications. But if it would make his uncle – who truth be told, he loved very much – feel even a little better, he would comply.

The prince was naturally still sleeping when Ignis arrived. He had a little time left to continue doing so, in fact, which was intentional. He’d found the boy was just a little easier to handle if he could already smell food cooking when he woke, so he made a point to arrive early enough for the convenience as often as possible. Not that the prince was ever entirely human when he was first pried out of bed. It took a shower and the promise of food before he was even coherent, at best.

The apartment was. . . not as bad as he’d expected, actually. Certainly not to his standards, but not at all the trash heap he’d been anticipating. Had the prince been making an effort, he wondered, or had he had assistance in the apartment’s upkeep? He found it hard to believe the boy had managed on his own – after all, Ignis knew all too well how much trash the young man could produce just overnight, never mind the entire days Ignis had been out of commission. He supposed it didn’t matter, from a practical standpoint, but he was admittedly a bit curious to the answer.

But there were times for such things and that time was not now. Now, he had work to do. He poked through the fridge and came up with a package of maple flavoured sausages and a carton of eggs, and though the former certainly made him grimace, he knew the prince was exceptionally fond of the syrupy, chemical-laden meats. There were a couple bell peppers still in the crisper that needed using, so he’d make the usual attempt to cut them fine enough to actually make it into the prince. Perhaps if he smothered the omelet in enough cheese, he’d even make it a few bites before he started picking the peppers out. Toast would round the meal nicely – though Noctis, at least, was liable to smother his in the ulwaat berry jam he favoured. Very well, this would do nicely.

Now. There was the matter of actually waking the prince.

Noctis was curled up in the darkness of his bedroom, blankets tucked and tangled around his slumbering form like the most haphazardly constructed burrito Ignis had ever seen – at least since the last time he’d woken the prince from his slumber. The boy didn’t stir when he pulled open the heavy curtains, flooding the room with the dredges of dawn light and drifting dust. For a moment, he stared at the lump of prince, considering. Then he reached for a corner of blanket, grasped the fabric with both hands, and gave a sudden, sharp tug. He ignored the twinge in his chest as he stepped back, pulling again and taking the blanket with him, consequently rolling the prince free of his cocoon. He had to admit, there was some satisfaction in watching the boy unravel, despite the volume of the incoherent protest from the prince as the cold air made contact with exposed flesh. It was a rather unpleasant way to wake, he imagined, though it wasn’t as though there were gentler options, if he wanted the boy to actually get up and going. They’d established that as irrefutable fact long, long ago.

But waking the boy was, after all, the hardest part. Once they’d managed that much, Noctis generally stumbled off to shower willingly – if not exactly happily – enough. At this point, anyway. It had taken years of frustration and diligence to properly get through the boy that no, he could not just roll over and fall back sleep, they would not leave him to it. Not after his shower. Not after breakfast, or in the middle of breakfast, or in the car. . . they would always wake him. They would always force him to be functional.

Not that it likely stopped him from sleeping through half of his classes, but then, it wasn’t as though Ignis could follow him even there to keep him awake. As long as the prince’s grades remained in good shape, there was little he could do about school room naps.

Once the boy had staggered off to the bathroom and the sound of running water followed, Ignis returned to the kitchen. The sausages were coming along nicely. He worked automatically, the motions familiar and well-practiced – a few minutes had the peppers chopped, cheese grated, eggs whipped to perfection. By the time the prince emerged from the bathroom, somewhat rumpled but mostly dressed, he was sliding the omelet onto a plate, scraping the last of the oozing cheese from the pan to dribble on top before adding sausage and lightly buttered toast to the plate. The prince made an ungainly flop into his seat at the table, taking a brief sip from the juice Ignis had already set out before mumbling something that sounded somewhat like his thanks as plate and jam were placed before him.

Ignis gave a small nod, recognizing the alien language Noct spoke in the mornings for what it was, and pleased with his own timing besides. For his first day back, he was doing quite well so far, despite his dragging feet. He turned his attention to other things – the dishes, assuring the prince’s bag was packed – but quickly finding himself unable to ignore the prince’s irritated (and far too pointed) looks, he refilled his coffee and settled down at the table with his phone. He could, after all, return after he’d dropped the prince off. It wasn’t as though he had much else to do. For a few minutes more they sat in a silence broken only by the sound of dedicated eating, but as the prince scraped his plate clean, Ignis looked up to meet blue eyes and a determined expression.

“You’re back.” An awkward introduction into the subject at hand, but so _very_ Noct.

“Just noticed that, did you?” he commented mildly, almost smiling when the boy’s brow drew together in that predictable way. He could make this easier on him, he supposed. But if he had to have this conversation with literally every person that had any influence in his life, then _honestly_ , they could just deal with their own awkwardness.

The prince’s frown deepened, lips pressing together in irritation at the cavalier response. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

Ignis frowned. It certainly was not. There was no reason for him not to return to his duties, now that he was capable of it. There absolutely was no need for him to lay about now that curatives had been applied and he was – mostly – healed.

“Never fear, I’ve been restricted to looking after you,” he deadpanned. “Absolutely no strenuous paperwork or meetings permitted.” Honestly, the distinction didn’t make a lick of sense.  Yes, of course it made sense that he was banished from the training room until he was fully healed, but desk work was far from labour intensive, and while listening to Councilman Lentus explain his superior expertise on literally any subject was less enjoyable than looking after the prince, he couldn’t objectively claim it was more strenuous.

And yet, that was where the line had be drawn, and like it or not, he was required to toe it.

“Good,” the prince spoke firmly, gave a small nod of agreement.  He rolled his eyes when Ignis just responded by tapping his watch, then leveling a pointed look at him.  He drained the last of his juice, then shoved himself to his feet to fetch his bag and put his shoes on. He didn’t bother to straighten his shirt and tie his tie, knowing Ignis would only be lying in wait to fix them anyway.

After all, if this was all he was going to be permitted to attend to, then he would do so with absolute perfection.


	4. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve! <3
> 
> I have literally had this chapter two hundred words from being done since before last chapter was out and I only _just_ managed to get it all done in time for today. That is December people. May January be gentler to everyone.
> 
> At any rate, enjoy the chapter!

Prompto wasn't sure whether he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, or pacing. The answer was probably somewhere in between the two. Or both. Hm. Both. The more he waited, leaning against cold brick, and then pushed himself up and walked around in a seemingly pointless circle, only to settle back into the same spot made it clear that it was probably both. He couldn't help it! How was he supposed to stay still and calm when today was the day?!

What did he mean by today the day? Why, it was Ignis' first day back at work, of course! Light duty, he was told, just to sort of...test how he was doing, and that, according to Noct, meant no meetings, or large amounts of paperwork, but that he was allowed to do some light reading, drive him around, and maybe, if he insisted (which he would, this was Ignis, people), cooking.

Prompto hadn't seen Ignis since the day they'd gone to visit him at home. He hadn't seen Ignis since the day that Ignis had said they were strangers. It felt like it had been weeks since then, but the reality was that there was still one muffin left under the cake dome at home, and that meant it had only been a few days.

"They gave him a curative," Noct had explained the day before, "and he seems to be doing well with it, so they're letting him come back just to me for a couple days, before they actually let him back into the Citadel. To, you know, see if it holds. I think it's too soon, but--" He had shrugged, and the subject had dropped at that, but for Prompto, it had been practically all he'd been able to think about since then.

For what was probably the thousandth time, Prompto patted his bag, to make sure everything he needed was still inside.

Today. He was definitely and totally prepared for today.

Ignis' car (it was actually probably Citadel standard, but Prompto knew it specifically as Ignis' car) pulled up to the curb, and Prompto instantly propelled himself off the wall again and put on his face at the same time. "Morning, Noct!" He waved, his grin flawless and in full force as he opened the door before the engine actually shut off. He leaned forward just a little more so that he could see the back of Ignis' head. Yep! There he was! "Morning, Iggy!"

"Good morning, Prompto." For all the warmth that there was in Ignis' tone, he might as well have called him 'Mr. Argentum.' It was like a slap to the face, but it wasn't anything like the shock of being called a stranger. There had been a part of him, a part he usually liked to tell himself was just paranoid, that had expected it. That Ignis was somehow angry with him, or something, that he'd somehow done something to revoke Ignis' already minimal approval of him. The other day the shock had rendered him too upset to act his part as the happy friend. Today, that part inside him that he hated being right allowed him to only shove the grin farther up on his lips.

This wasn't going to affect him. Not outwardly. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with this before.

"How are you feeling? Better?"

"I am feeling perfectly fine, thank you."

 _'The word or the acronym?'_ His brain supplied to him, and Prompto just barely managed to hold back from mirroring words Ignis' own uncle had given him days ago now. Instead he smiled, and opened his bag to root around into it. "Since it's your first day back, I brought you something!" His hands shook a little as he wrapped his fingers around the Ebony, but he was proud that when he drew it out and offered it, the shaking wasn't obvious. When Ignis didn't immediately reach around to take it, Prompto definitely started to feel the panic bubble up in his throat. "I mean, you can still have Ebony, right? They don't have you on meds that prevent you from having it?" Oh Astrals, he probably was. He was probably totally still on medication that said to limit his caffeine intake! He was being so insensitive right now!

"Prom," the can slid from his grasp, not to Ignis's hands, but to Noct's, and Prompto quickly busied himself with closing the bag to stop Noct from seeing how much he was panicking inside. "Head on in, okay? I gotta talk to Specs for a couple more minutes."

"You sure? I can wait."

"Yeah, it's official stuff, you know? He has been gone for almost almost a week Citadel time."

Noctis was his best friend, but, for a prince, Noctis was also a shit liar. Prompto took the lie for what it was though, an easy out, and nodded. "Okay, I'll see you inside then, buddy?"

"Yeah, just a couple minutes."

"Cool." He shut the car door shut with a slam that was a little louder than he'd intended, and Prompto focused on the way his breath made little clouds of steam all the way into the school. That was better than focusing on Ignis' cold tone and the shaking in his arms and legs that had nothing to do with the winter chill. The difference in temperature outside the school and inside the school were like night and day, like stepping from the northern most colds to the southern most warms, except probably not really, because he knew Insomnia winters were actually pretty mild, but still.

Prompto breathed in, preparing for a huge sigh, and this proved to be a huge mistake. The stark difference between the cold outside he'd been breathing and warmer air inside hit the back of his throat like a cactuar's 1000 needles.

Prompto coughed, hard, hands up to his mouth, bending over as though his life depended on it until the fit passed, almost as quickly as it had come. His throat felt raw as he stood back up straight, but he could breathe without feeling like the school's heating system was stabbing his throat with little sewing needles. Ugh. Yeah, that had totally been exactly what he'd needed.

He shuffled off toward his locker, willing himself to simply go through the motions until a hand lightly shoved his shoulder, accompanied by Noct's usual, "Hey!" that drove a smile back on his face. "Sorry about that."

"It's cool. Iggy all caught up now?"

Noctis nodded, drifting off toward his own locker to shove this in and pull that out before the bell rang. "He should be good to go. He said he was gonna head over to my place and do some straightening." There was a short pause during which Prompto closed his locker and Noctis opened his own. "Thanks for helping me, you know, with the apartment."

"No problem." To be perfectly honest, Prompto didn't know how Noctis managed to actually get it as bad as seemed to get in just a day or so. It took over a week of neglect for _just_ his kitchen to get that bad. All the same, Prompto was fairly confident that when Ignis got back to Noct's place, he'd find it in relative order. At the very least, he wasn't going to find the chaotic mess he'd probably expected to find. Prompto knew his straightening and taking out trash was nothing like Ignis' own standard, but it was something. Maybe.

The bell rang before anything more could be said, and then they were then rushing off to class. It was Friday, and the last thing either of them wanted was to be given detention for being late.

School passed in the same sort of haze it normally did. Class sucked, not because he hated it, not really, but more because he just sucked at everything. There wasn't a single class that Prompto could honestly say he was good at. Noctis, when he put his mind to it, was always leagues ahead of him, both in smarts and athleticism. Of course, he didn't train two to three times a week with the most muscular guy on the face of the planet, and he didn't have a personal genius to help him understand...well, everything. Prompto also didn't have the impending strain of an entire kingdom weighing on his shoulders more and more with every passing year. Luckily, King Regis was (as far as he knew) in good health and Noctis wouldn't actually have to worry about becoming king for another twenty to thirty years, but still, that was not something Prompto would ever have to worry about.

Prompto supposed that was the trade off. He got to be normal, with normal grades and no future, but freedom, and Noct got to be extraordinary with a plan in in place, but no choice at all. Prompto rubbed his wrist as he thought that he knew, perhaps a little better than most, what a burden it could be to know what you were destined to be. Prompto suspected Noctis was feeling the strain of that destiny even more than usual this week.

In gym class, Noctis just dominated the football game. He wasn't allowed to warp during gym, but he might as well have been doing it anyway for how fast and up in people's spaces he got. Even without magic, Noct sort of had an unfair advantage, not that anything about PE was supposed to be fair. More than once, Prompto winced in sympathy for the other players. They weren't used to Noctis actually going all out. Normally, he had the capability, but he didn't use it. Noct wasn't friends with them, but he didn't hate his other classmates either. It was mostly a sort of live-and-let-live arrangement, mixed with Noct's desire to be viewed as normal in this one aspect of his life.

Prompto didn't know where Noct was going to get that sense of normalcy once they graduated in the spring.

"You really didn't pull your punches today."

Noct's entire body stopped, mid-drink of water. "Was I that bad?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Sorry."

"Uh, not really me you need to be apologizing to, buddy."

"I know," Noctis sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit. "But still. Sorry."

Noct was a little quiet after that, subdued, even. Prompto hated it. He hated seeing his friend all sad and depressed and knowing there wasn't really anything he could do about it. It was Ignis, Prompto was pretty sure. Noct was worried about his oldest friend. That was what they were, after all. They were each other's oldest friend, and it was a special bond, even if they sometimes seemed more like bickering siblings than anything else. Or. Well. Noct bickered. Ignis raised his eyebrow and made sure everything was in the order he intended it to be. Noct was a prince, but the truth was it was Ignis who got his way in the end, _most_ of the time.

He wanted to comfort his friend, but how? There were only so many times he could say that Ignis would be fine. He couldn't even say that he was sure Ignis would pace himself. That would be a lie. Ignis was the sort of man who did "whatever he had to" to achieve his goals. If that meant pushing himself right back into a hospital bed, well, Ignis would do it.

Dammit. Now he was worrying too.

When the final bell rang, Noct was up and out of his chair so fast Prompto briefly wondered if Noctis thought it would burst into flames if he sat there any longer than necessary. By comparison, Prompto was practically lethargic, his feet sort of doing a shuffle dance all the way back to his locker. On a normal day, he was the one bouncing next to Noct's locker, desperate for even just a few extra moments with his friend before they parted ways for the day, but today it was Noct who hovered near him as he retrieved the last of the things he'd need for the weekend. "You ready to go?"

"Yep!" At least his voice was appropriately cheerful as he shut his locker with a slam and reset the combination. "Totally ready to kill my brain with facts all weekend." Exams were coming up. Right before holiday break, because of course they were. That was actually always the worst thing about holiday time, the way school always went Here! Have a whole bunch of really stressful tests, and we're not going to tell you if you passed or failed until after break! Enjoy!' Ugh. This was supposed to be a time of celebration, a time when families made little dragon, sun, and star shaped cookies, and people hung their protection crystals on their doors, and exchanged gifts, and ate until they were fit to burst. It was not supposed to be a time of stressing over exactly how badly he'd failed his history exam.

Just the thought of studying for his exams was enough to make him stressed, let alone the idea of actually taking said exams and the torture of waiting for the results.

"Don't talk about homework yet! It's Friday! I'm talking about game night, duh!" Noctis shoved the door open, letting the cold air wash over them as Prompto groaned.

Normally, Friday game night was what he looked forward to all week long, but - "I'm not sure I should come over this week."

"What?!" Guilt twisted and turned in his gut as Noctis looked at him with an expression that was seriously on level with someone kicking a cat in front of him. "No! Why?!" Even as he asked, some sort of realization seemed to come over his face, and his face set in frigid stone. "No. I am not letting Specs drive you off."

"Dude! It's not that he's driving me off!" He had a thousand excuses in his brain. Most of his excuses revolved around the fact that it was Ignis' first day back. They revolved around not wanting to give Ignis more work to do. They revolved around not wanting to stress Ignis out, and make him have a relapse of whatever it was he'd had. Prompto had never had a curative, but they weren't curealls! Or else they've be called curealls, right?!

He had a thousand excuses, and Prompto didn't get to say a single one, because Noctis was already halfway across the schoolyard, making a beeline for that little spot that Ignis somehow always managed to snag for the car. Ignis himself was already outside the car, standing like he was some sort of chauffeur, rather than the super important advisor he actually was.

"This is your fault! Fix it!" He heard Noct yell at Ignis, and that was all he said before Prompto watched Noctis pry open the car door and climb inside, shutting it too loudly behind him.

Ignis, for his part, looked rather baffled, an unusual expression on his face as he peered through the tinted windows, then back at Prompto as he approached. That slithering monster of guilt threatened to take him over completely. "Do you happen to know what he's talking about?"

"Uh. Yeah. I suggested that I not come over for game night."

"Because of me?"

"I didn't say that! Noct just assumed!"

"Is it though? Because of me?" There was some sort of unreadable emotion on Ignis' face, his arms crossed over his chest, and Prompto couldn't stare at it anymore. He let his head fall to look at the ground. The little pebbles that made up the concrete were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Eventually, he nodded a little. Now was the time for the thousand excuses. "I mean. It's your first day back after a surgery. You don't need me around making your life harder. Not on the first day." Well. Prompto supposed that was the truth. Ignis had decided that he didn't like him anymore; it would just be easier if he didn't muck up his work. He just wished Ignis would tell him what he'd done! So that he could apologize and never do it again. It was the worst feeling, and Noct being affected by it made the worst feeling even more terrible. "Having me around isn't exactly stress free, right? Extra person to think about."

"Prompto." He wouldn't call it warm, but the disdain from that morning was absent from his voice, and for a second Prompto dared to hope that Ignis wasn't going to be angry at him forever. "Game night has been something of a ritual for you two for how long now?"

Was that a question? Prompto scrunched up his nose. Ignis was trying to make him think about it. Which was logical. Of course it was. It was Ignis. Ignis probably knew the answer down to the number of weeks. Prompto wasn't going to be that accurate, but-- "I mean, I wouldn't say _ritual_ , but we've done it for...over two years? Oh man. Over two years." Prompto groaned, letting his head fall back as he thought about it. Had it really been that long? They hadn't started it the instant they'd met, but it hadn't been too long after that. Every Friday, unless one of them was sick or Noct had royal obligations. That was a long time.

"Then please, get in the car." Ignis even went over and opened it for him, and how was he supposed to say no to that?

He slid into the car, and Ignis shut it behind him. Next to him Noctis sat, deep in a princely sulk complete with head bowed, arms crossed over his chest. That creature called guilt twisted in his gut again, and Prompto knew he had to fix this, now. Later, in retrospect, he'd realize that attacking the Lucian Crown Prince with tickling perhaps hadn't been the best idea in all of Eos, but in the moment it had seemed like a great idea, until his attempts were met with a dead ass stare. No laughter, no squirming, nothing. Just a stare.

"...Are you not ticklish?"

"Nope," Noct responded with a slight pop on the P. "But I bet you are."

He was, and by the time Ignis had gotten around to the driver's seat, Prompto was howling with laughter, his entire being pressed up against the car door as nimble fingers attacked him from all sides. "Highness," Ignis' voice scolded.

"He started it!" Noctis protested, but stopped, retreating back to his side and pulling down the seat belt. Well. Perhaps Noct wasn't ticklish, but he was smiling now, and as Ignis pulled out onto the road, Prompto decided that was still a win.


	5. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was (finally) brought to you by the Final Fantasy X OST and excessive amounts of potent coffee. It's what Ignis would have wanted. : )
> 
> By the way, I've never actually had curry. I'd really like to - it sounds so delicious, and I do tend to enjoy similar foods -, but I haven't had the chance yet. I referenced a few different recipes, including the one from the [community cookbook](https://sites.google.com/view/ffxvcookbook/home) \- definitely check it out if you're interested.

The drive to school was, unsurprisingly, quiet, though Ignis thought he caught the prince watching him from the corner of his vision more than once. But every time he looked directly into the rearview mirror, Noctis was looking away – eyes closed, by all appearances dozing off in the backseat. Yet the sensation of being watched lingered. Finally, he pulled up to the school, gliding to a smooth and practiced stop at the curb in front of the building. The door opened practically the moment the vehicle came to a full stop, the blond on the other side offering a cheerful greeting, freckled face bright in an all too cheerful grin. Ah, yes, Prompto Argentum. Of course.

“Good morning, Prompto,” he returned the greeting, his tone cool and professional. The blond’s expression faltered the barest moment, as though he could have possibly been expecting any other response, but brightened before the blond spoke again.

“How are you feeling? Better?” He was certainly trying hard, wasn’t he? There was something to be said for that, though it remained to be seen if he’d (ever) be as won over as Gladio already seemed to be. Perhaps he would. There was little – yet – to point to the boy being anything but exactly what he seemed.

“I am feeling perfectly fine, thank you.” Whatever his intentions, there was no reason not to be polite. To his complete bafflement, however, the blond reached into his bag and offered him a can of coffee – of Ebony, specifically, his brand of choice – asserting it was a gift to mark his first day returning to work. When Ignis didn’t immediately take the offered beverage, the blond clearly became flustered, his voice rising a pitch as he rambled. But before he could cut off the blond’s spiral, Noctis intervened, accepting the coffee on his behalf and sending his friend ahead with a well-meaning lie.

When the car door closed again and the prince turned his attention back to Ignis, there was no doubt. He was, colloquially speaking, pissed. The dark-haired boy leaned forward to shove the can into the spare cup holder. Ignis reached for the can reflexively, then aborted mid-motion when the prince didn’t quite knock over the thermos of hot coffee in the next cup holder.

“Prompto didn’t get any say in this,” he seethed, crossing his arms over his chest as he threw himself back against the back seat, “so stop being such an asshole.”

“Language.” The reprimand was automatic – had to be, as his thoughts had stuttered to a baffled halt when the prince’s words first registered. Hadn’t asked for what – scrutiny? Honestly, what did they expect? Noctis was the crown prince. Of course, there would be scrutiny. The blond had to be vetted and cleared, just like everyone else in the prince’s life. Noctis knew this. Noctis knew he couldn’t make an exception just because the prince was already attached.

“Seriously, Ignis.” The prince’s frustration was palatable. “Stop treating him like he’s just some guy you don’t know.”

“And how, precisely,” he asked, turning partially in his seat to meet the boy’s glare head on, “ought I to be treating him?” Particularly given, after all, that the blond _was_ exactly that.

For a long moment, the prince stared at him blankly, rather resembling the proverbial mesmenir in headlights. Then blue eyes narrowed again, the muscles in his jaw tightening slightly as he settled back into a stubborn glare - as though if he stared angrily enough, there was even the slightest chance his advisor would back down. Perhaps were the issue at hand anything but the prince’s well being, there might have been a chance.

And then, unexpectedly, something in the prince’s expression relented, and he bowed his head with a sigh, shoulders hunching into a half-hearted shrug. “You know what.” He opened the car door, slouching magnificently as he climbed out and pulled his school bag after him. “Just _forget_ _it_.” The door abruptly slammed behind him, the prince stalking toward the school building.

Ignis watched him go, unsettled and perplexed. That entire conversation hadn’t made a great deal of sense, truth be told. While it was reasonable, to some extent, to expect the prince to be unhappy with his diligence, Noctis was, frankly speaking, a little _too_ unhappy, given the circumstances.  Noctis was behaving as though Ignis’s perfectly rational behavior was actually out of line. As though he should have welcomed the boy into his life with open arms, instead of cautiously approaching the situation like they strangers they were. Almost as though. . .

But that couldn’t be accurate, could it?

He shook his head, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, directing the vehicle back toward the apartment building they both resided in. After all, he had work to do, restrictions be damned.

Truth be told, the prince’s apartment wasn’t nearly so bad as he might have expected, given the length of time he’d been left to his own devices. While it certainly wasn’t as spic and span as he himself would have kept it, there were only a few dishes in the sink; discarded trash was, for the most part, in its intended receptacles; and perhaps most shocking of all, dirty laundry was actually in the hamper instead of scattered about willy nilly. Of course there was still a certain film in the corners and grime on the stove, but beggars could not be choosers, after all.

Clearly the prince had recruited some assistance in keeping his apartment in order, and though it wasn’t quite up to his standards, he still found himself suffused with a certain warmth. . . he had _tried_ , after all, and that alone meant a great deal.

He started with the laundry, sorting through the hamper until he came up with enough like colors to start a load – hardly a chore, given the prince’s wardrobe and likeness for royal black. He gathered up the trash, compiling the bags by the front door to take out before he left. He then turned his attention to the kitchen, making quick work of the few dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and stove. He eyed the floor thoughtfully, but resolved to leave scrubbing that down for later. If he started deep cleaning now, Noctis would surely tattle. Furthermore, if he worsened his condition doing so, Uncle Ventus would be angry – a possibility he wished always to avoid. Irritating as it was to let it go for now, it was, unfortunately, necessary.

A quick assessment of the prince’s cabinets determined he would need to go grocery shopping before he’d be able to cook much of anything, unless perhaps the prince wished to live on spices alone. He made a mental checklist of what he’d need to pick up from the store to have the ingredients on hand for a few of the prince’s favourites, particularly as he was far more likely to be returning to cook for His Royal Highness over the weekend given his approaching exams. He would require what he needed for those pastries Noct loved as well – just because the prince’s great joy at having to study was unavoidable, not to mention the thrill of his blond friend being under such close scrutiny, didn’t mean Ignis couldn’t make some gesture to ease his mind. . . or at least his tastebuds. Noctis did love those ulwaat pastries, and if they could in some small way express his sympathy even in the face of unflinching duty, it was a small price to pay to put the time and effort into their making.

Ignis went on autopilot as he locked up and drove to the grocery store, parking his car with careful precision and depositing the requisite coin to claim a cart before rolling within. Produce was examined, prices calculated, and hardly before he knew it, he was stowing bags into his trunk and heading for home. Once he’d parked in his usual spot, he gathered the groceries and headed back up to the prince’s apartment, perhaps a little more winded than he cared to admit by the time he put the bags down in the kitchen and began to put everything away. It only took a few minutes, surely, and knowing that he now had what he needed on hand to make a proper meal. . . he felt as though he’d actually accomplished something, despite the restrictions that had been placed upon him.

But there was still hours before he would need to pick up the prince, and longer still before supper preparations. In the meantime. . . the pastries, of course. It was a simple matter to regather the needed ingredients for the prince’s favourite dessert. The preparation was almost soothing in how automatic it was, considering how many times as he’d made it over the years, though diligent attention was still required, lest he scorch the filling. He was only just cutting the butter into the flour for the crust when he heard it – the distinctive squeak of the apartment door opening, unavoidable no matter how slowly it was pushed open. Heavy footsteps. Heart in throat, he softly placed the pastry blender in the bowl of half-blended flour and pulled a blade in a flurry of blue sparks. He would not be caught unawares.

“Iggy? Are you in here?”

Gladiolus. _Of course._ Six. He slumped against the counter, gingerly prying his fingers from the blade before releasing it back into the armiger. Irritation mingled with dizzying relief as he took a deep breath, straightened, then called out.

“In the kitchen,” he acknowledged. If there was any strain in his voice, he was certainly justified. If Gladio had thought he might be at the prince’s apartment, why had he not simply knocked – or better yet, texted him to let him know he was on the way?

If he was just stopping by for an unnecessary check in, swear to Shiva. . .

The man’s expression was one of mingled relief and exasperation as he came around the corner. “You’re not answering your phone.” Oh. _Oh._ He patted his pockets and, sure enough, the device was missing. After only a moment scanning the room, he spotted it next to his now-empty thermos of coffee – exactly where he’d set it down when he’d first returned after dropping the prince off at class. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

Ignis picked up the phone, frowning as he unlocked the screen with a few simple strokes – sure enough, he had several unanswered messages and even a handful of missed calls. His stomach dropped, heavy with guilt at the realization that the majority of the missed messages were from his uncle. So much for putting the man’s mind at ease. Immediately, he began to reply to his most recent text, assuring him he had merely misplaced his phone for a time.

“My apologies,” he offered, finally looking up from the phone screen to see his friend looked mostly fond, if also a bit concerned. “Quite careless of me.” He tucked the phone into his pocket where it belonged, pausing just long enough to be awkward before he cleared his throat, well aware he hadn’t exactly answered the man’s other question. “I am feeling perfectly fine, thank you,” he found himself saying for the second time that day. Deliberately, he focused his attention back into cutting the butter into the dry ingredients, not wanting to see what expression the shield might be making if he looked up. He certainly did not think about the circumstances under which he’d spoken the words earlier, or the blond he’d been speaking to.

“It’s okay if you’re not.” He words were a little too deliberate for the casual tone they were spoken in. "I can pick up the kids later if you need to take a break.” Ignis blinked, slightly startled at the comment.  The kids, plural.  He supposed that referred to the prince as well as his new friend. How  _wonderful_ to have some warning. Gladio leaned against the counter, reaching out to tap the can of Ebony – still unopened. “Maybe you should drink a few less of these and rest for a while.”

Ignis stared in at the larger man in blatant disbelief, then after a moment, placed the pastry blender down on the counter and reached for the can, maintaining eye contact and he opened it and took a long, steady drink. Stop drinking Ebony? Over his cold, dead body. Gladio laughed. He got the message, he was sure.

“I’ve got the situation quite under control, I assure you,” he asserted, placing the can aside with a pointed glare as he turned his attention back to the recipe at hand.

The shield shook his head with a small grin, leaning more of his weight against the counter as he watched. “I could taste test for you,” he offered, clearly trying his luck at cashing in on the opportunity.

Ignis chuckled. He was well past the point of needing a taste tester on this particular recipe. Thanks in no small part to Uncle Ventus’s expertise in seemingly all areas of Tenebrian cuisine, this was one puzzle he’d sorted out long ago.  “Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have another opinion,” he allowed, knowing perfectly well the other man merely had an insatiable appetite and would devour anything he made with the same enthusiasm. But he was always so effusive when it came to food, and it felt good to be appreciated.

By the time the pastries were out of the oven and cooling on racks – besides the few a certain behemoth had shoved into his foolish mouth despite the temperature - , it was nearly time to pick the boys up from school, particularly considering how congested traffic tended to be this time of day. Gladio graciously offered to come along, but Ignis waved him off, correctly asserting again that he had the situation well under control. It was hardly a strenuous activity, after all, merely to pick up the prince from school.

Even if, were he being perfectly honest, the traffic did sometimes give him a headache. Or the drivers, rather. The road rage. It was exhausting. Mostly after he already had the prince in the car. The drive to the school – despite the road rage, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the sheer tediousness of the drive taking three times longer than seemed strictly necessary – didn’t feel near as stressful as the drive to the boy’s apartment. A bit dull, absolutely, but it was also the Golden Hour, when the host of his favourite radio station played classics from years bygone. It could enjoy them, at least, until Noctis got in the car and changed the station, inevitably whining about him having the music tastes of an 80-year-old. As though that was any kind of insult from someone who thought Panic! At the Disco was lyrical genius.

_Honestly._

Ignis pulled up to the school just as classes were letting out, swiftly stepping from the vehicle to await the prince’s arrival – though he knew perfectly the well the boy tended to take his time, goofing off and leaving him waiting. However, it seemed to be a mere few minutes before he spotted the prince making a beeline for the car, expression thunderous. Ignis had only a moment to wonder if he’d gotten in a fight with his friend before the full force of the prince’s fury was upon him; it seemed, despite not even being present for most of the prince’s day thus far, he’d somehow managed to anger him.

“This is your fault! Fix it!”

And then he was in the car, slamming the door behind him, leaving Ignis standing there dumbly, utterly baffled. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he was being blamed for, but he surely hoped he was at least going to find out. He peered at the prince through the tinted windows for a moment – definitely sulking, as he was apt to do – before turning to see his blond friend approaching. Some context, perhaps?

“Do you happen to know what he’s talking about?” Genuinely, he wished to know, and he sincerely hoped the blond had an answer, or at the very least, a clue. The blond fidgeted a little at the question, but that alone couldn’t definitively determine much of anything. Perhaps he was just nervous to have Ignis’s attention on him. Their interactions thus far hadn’t been the most pleasant.

“Uh, yeah.” Splendid. He’d have some idea what he was in for, then. “I suggested that I not come over for game night.”

He frowned. Yes, he could see why Noctis was upset. Still, the way the blond had said it implied. . . was this a routine of theirs? Surely were that the case, he’d have met the boy considerably earlier.

“Because of me?” After all, the prince had said it was his fault, though he couldn’t say why the blond would resist coming over on his behalf, exactly. He understood he was mostly recovered, did he not? That was how curatives worked, after all.

“I didn’t say that!” Was that panic? “Noct just assumed!”

“Is it, though?” He was already convinced. Why else would he react with such a vehement denial? “Because of me?” He crossed his arms as the blond’s gaze redirected to the ground, seeming to find looking at literally anything else preferable to meeting his eyes. Ignis waited, and eventually, the boy nodded.

“I mean.” Here came the explanation – or excuses, depending on how you chose to look at it. “It’s your first day back after a surgery. You don’t need me around making your life harder. Not on the first day.” Well, Ignis supposed this supported the assertion that the boy was exactly what he seemed, and an excellent friend besides. It was certainly a rather thoughtful line of reasoning. If he’d been trying to take advantage, surely he would have seen any weakness on Ignis’s part as an opportunity. “Having me around isn’t exactly stress free, right? Extra person to think about.”

“Prompto,” he started, then paused, not quite certain how to proceed, but keenly feeling the need to interrupt. Astrals, he hoped this boy was what he seemed. He truly hoped he didn’t regret giving him the benefit of the doubt. Furthermore. . . “Game night has been something of a ritual for you two for how long now?” It sounded like a leading question, but he sincerely didn’t know. And if what he’d been beginning to suspect was true. . .

The blond scrunched up his face in thought, the freckles across his nose crinkling charmingly. “I mean. I wouldn’t say _ritual_ , but we’ve done it for . . . over two years?” Ignis felt this throat seize up with sudden disbelief, his heart rate skyrocketing as a twisting sensation tightened in his chest. _Two years?_ There was no rational explanation for that. There was absolutely zero possibility that Noctis, of all people, could hide a friend from him for two astral-forsaken years. Certainly not if he was regularly visiting for game nights. He couldn't deal with this.  Don’t panic. Absolutely do not panic. “Oh man. Over two years.” Deep breath. He didn’t have to process this now. He only had to function. Keep calm. Forward momentum.  Prove it hadn't been a mistake, letting him come back to work.

“Then please, get in the car.” His tone was remarkably steady to even his own ears, despite feeling as though he barely managed to suck in the air to speak. He followed the invitation by opening the door for the boy, and to his great relief, the blond climbed inside next to the prince. He closed the door behind him, and in the short time it took for him to move to the driver’s seat, the vehicle had filled with the frantic giggles of someone being forcibly tickled.

“ _Highness._ " Ignis frowned, having put the full force of his disapproval into the reprimand. He remembered very well what it felt like being subjected to the prince’s tickling fingers, and he doubted the blond appreciated it any more than he ever had. Tickling was, without question, the absolute worst.

The prince insisted that Prompto had started it, and even if it were true, that was hardly an excuse, given the dark-haired boy’s complete absence of ticklishness. It was hardly fighting on even ground. He sighed, flicking his gaze away from the prince and his very flushed friend, but spoke no more on the matter as the boys buckled up and he pulled out into the road and the ever delightful traffic that came with the drive back to the prince’s apartment.

The drive was too quiet, even with the music still softly playing over the speakers. He needed to not ponder, if it could be managed.

“Any requests for dinner?” He glanced in the rearview mirror as he asked the question, one hand moving to silence the already low radio before returning to the perfect posture of 9 and 3. There was a moment of silence, but when Ignis eased to a stop in the bumper-to-bumper traffic and looked back again, the prince was looking him dead in the eyes.

“Green curry.” Though the prince’s tone was casual, there was something deliberate about the way he made the suggestion – though it wasn’t really a suggestion, was it? Of course, it was not. If the prince wanted green curry for dinner, then that was what his chamberlain would make. Even if, truth be told, he was expecting something a little heavier on the meat.

“An unexpected request,” he acknowledged, merely raising a brow in response. Traffic picked up slightly, and he returned his attention to the road. When he thought about it, surprisingly, he believed he did have the ingredients required. There was no reason he couldn’t make green curry soup – other than the fact it was a somewhat strange request for the prince to make. It had numerous vegetables in it, after all. Perhaps it was something the blond particularly liked? The way he’d just squeaked certainly seemed to suggest it. “Very well.” He’d let the pastries be a surprise, though it wouldn’t be one he could hide once they’d arrived back at the prince’s apartment. After all, the entire floor smelled like ulwaat berries at this point.

The remaining drive back to the prince’s apartment was. . . a touch awkward, truth be told, at least from Ignis’s perspective. The boys whispered in the back seat, only lasting a few minutes before they whipped out their phones and filled the vehicle with familiar music as they engaged in a riveting round of King’s Knight. Ignis himself alternated between navigating traffic and glancing back at the boys, making his best effort not to linger on recent revelations. It would have been perfectly mundane, under normal circumstances.

As soon as he pulled up to the apartment building, the boys were out of the car, shoving each other playfully as they led the walk up to the younger man’s apartment. Boys would be boys, he supposed, even if the lack of decorum wasn’t exactly thrilling. He’d take it, however, over the prince’s earlier sulk any day.

And sure enough, the prince noticed the pastries right away, immediately snatching a couple to bring over to the couch, despite his advisor’s half-hearted protests about spoiling his dinner. He was inwardly pleased, of course, that the prince was always so enthusiastic about the treats, but someone had to be the responsible party here, and gods knew with the prince’s focus on a night of gaming, it was not going to be the younger. Ignis shook his head, then turned his attention to supper. Right. Green curry soup. He could do this. He did not have to think about it too deeply.

Green curry soup turned out to be far more frustrating prospect than anticipated. While the boys settled in for a night of gaming, irritatingly ridiculous sound effects and all, Ignis pulled up the recipe and got to work. Though it was not a recipe he made often, the motions were familiar and he soon settled into a rhythm. The apartment filled with the aroma of spices cooking, and the mingled scents of garlic and shallots. He ground the spices into fine powder with a rarely-used pestle he kept in a high cabinet, mashed the garlic to a pulp before mixing and introducing the other greens: lemongrass, chilis, coriander, and kaffir. The usually grating sounds of the boy playing faded out from his awareness as he focused entirely at work at hand, blending in galangal, shrimp paste, and salt before setting the bowl aside. Cooking had a zen-like effect on him, settling his feelings, relaxing his mood even as it sharpened his focus.

He poured a couple tablespoons of olive oil into a pan, then turned on the heat, adding ingredients to brown and stirring as he finished dicing them: the additional garlic and shallots he had peeled earlier, then chicken thighs chopped into bite-sized chunks. Once the chicken had turned white, he poured in enough chicken stock to just cover, then added a few teaspoons of the paste he’d already mixed. He was. . . unsure if that was enough, but the directions said he could add more later if needed, so it would serve for the time being. He added a few tablespoons of soy sauce and two cups of coconut milk, then stirred and left the pan to simmer.

However, when it came time to taste before adding the remaining ingredients. . . something just wasn’t right. He couldn’t really put his finger on it. It wasn’t a recipe he made all that often, but he was quite certain there was something missing for this stage. Of course, he hadn’t yet put in the red peppers – or the spring onion, or the lime, for that matter – but he was certain it was something else. . .

“Smells great in there, Iggster!” The voice was uncertain despite its cheer and force, and having been focused perhaps a little too intensely on the flavour profile of the partially completed dish, he flinched at the break of concentration. He opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly distracted again by the matter at hand before he actually managed to say something. Perhaps more of the paste before he added the peppers?

“Everything okay in here, Specs?” Again, he flinched, though the voice was closer this time, and that of the prince rather than his friend. He hadn’t even heard them come into the kitchen.

“Hmmm?” It took a moment, but he focused on the prince’s concerned expression, returning the stirring spoon to the pan as he managed a smile. “Apologies, Highness. Supper will be ready shortly.”

“Dude.” They both turned to the blond at the interruption, and for a moment, the other boy hesitated. “It’s just. . .” He gestured towards the cutting board, where the red peppers waiting to go in sat evenly diced and separated from the seeds of those that had already been used. “You’re not putting the seeds in? That’s what gives it the best heat, you know?” Ignis stared for a moment longer, and the blond visibly wilted in the silence, shoulders hunching slightly.

He cleared his throat, just barely remembering the pepper juices on his hands in time to abort the motion of adjusting his glasses. “Perhaps you can assist,” he offered, finally choosing to take the leap with an educated guess. After all, he knew Noct’s tastes. It was the logical conclusion. “Green curry is your favourite, is it not?” His gaze flickered over to the prince at his slight nod, then back to the blond. “Something in this recipe seems not quite right to me – perhaps a taste test is in order?” He offered the stirring spoon, staring expectantly as the blond’s face flushed, a bright contrast against the freckles speckled across his skin.

After a moment, Ignis stiffened, aware of how exactly he was making the offer. “Apologies.” What was he thinking? He should have handed over the spoon instead of offering a taste so directly. “Of course, you’d rather – “ But as he began to pull away, the blond jolted forward, one hand coming up to steady the spoon’s handle as pink lips closed over the sample. Ignis felt his face grow hot, the image seared into his mind in a seemingly long moment that couldn’t realistically have been more than a few seconds. Then the blond was pulling away, licking his lips as he considered.

“Uhm.” Ignis’s gaze flickered away as the blond considered, the back again, drawn. “Yeah, you gotta add the seeds. How many peppers were you gonna put in?”

Ignis cleared his throat again, giving the pot another stir before setting the spoon gingerly aside as he turned his attention to the directions. “The recipe calls for two.”

The blond laughed, the sound like a jolt of electricity down his spine. “No way, dude. You’re gonna need more than that.”

“How many more, do you suppose?” Brows drawing together, he moved to the fridge, opening the crisper to pull out the remaining peppers. He had three red peppers remaining. Would that be too many? He knew what the prince would say – something like ‘one pepper is too many’ – but apparently the purpose of this meal was to please his friend, so said friend's opinion was the one that was relevant.

“I mean, how many do you have?” Ignis turned, peppers in hand, merely raising a brow at the reply. The blond again laughed, a touch more nervously this time. “You can’t have too many peppers, you know?”

“I’m quite sure His Highness would disagree,” he commented – but there was mischief in his tone, and his lips curved in a small smile. He closed the fridge, moving back over to the cutting board and retrieving his knife. “Would you mind terribly stirring while I cut these?”

“Sure!” the blond agreed, hopping to it with trademark enthusiasm. Ignis made short work of the peppers, hyperaware of the additional body in the kitchen all the while, then added them and the remaining ingredients as the soup bubbled away. A few minutes more, and the meal was ready to be sampled. The blond had the first taste, giving a bright grin and a thumbs up before offering the spoon back. Pleased by the blond’s approval, Ignis followed with his own taste – and frankly, almost choked. Not that it was bad. Just. It was.

“ _Goodness_ ,” he murmured. That was quite warm, and yet, it seemed more. . . correct, at least compared to his earlier attempt. Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating. He certainly hadn’t anticipated how much heat the extra peppers was going to add. He chuckled. Noctis was going to regret this meal suggestion – the boy had such a cat’s tongue. A little milk or ice cream, though, and he’d be fine. Honestly speaking, Ignis would likely want some himself, though he was a bit less sensitive to the heat than the prince. And the vanilla ice cream he’d picked up would pair nicely with the pastries, anyway.

“Let’s eat.”


	6. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Please enjoy the chapter. <3

In a way, it was a rare treat. Ignis was one of those cooks who liked to cook alone. The kitchen was his territory, and if Ignis were a dragon of lore, he'd probably place a curse on those who dared to enter uninvited. (Gladio specifically would be cursed many times over, even though he didn't try to take a hand in the actual cooking.) So when Ignis hadn't instantly thrown him out of the kitchen, but had instead allowed him to stay, help, and give thoughts on the green curry, well, it was practically a miracle.

Sure, the spoon fed tasting was probably the most embarrassing moment of his life to date (not to say it wasn't also a dream, having Ignis actually offer to spoon feed him something as though it were a scene out of a rom com, but he knew Ignis hadn't meant it like that--), but he'd been determined to not make Ignis any more angry with him than he already was, and it was true, the flavor had been a bit off. Definitely the lack of pepper seeds. It wasn't like Ignis to be off about anything, but Prompto put it down to first day back. Noct was probably right, it had been too soon. Ignis should have taken a couple more days, but it was _Ignis_ , so of course he hadn't.

Speaking of Noctis, Prompto only noticed his absence from the kitchen as he'd settled in to stir the curry while Ignis had chopped up the remaining peppers. He'd probably evacuated the room the moment peppers were even mentioned, the vegetable hating fiend. Whatever. He was probably back on the couch playing King's Knight or something while Prompto was in here, stirring Ignis' curry. An honor rather than a chore, really, especially considering how angry Prompto knew Ignis still was at him. How did he know Ignis was still angry? Ignis didn't let things go, like Gladio did, or stew and then explode like Noctis. No, Ignis got angry, and then he stayed angry, and he got back at you in a way you knew was him getting back at you, but you couldn't prove it. In fact, this was probably part of the getting back at him plan right here.

Shit.

Well! Whatever! He was being allowed to stir, and dammit if he wasn't going to be the best stirrer ever! He accepted his fate, and stirred the best that he could, until Ignis came back over with the peppers, and everything else, whatever it was, that went into it, and then, almost too soon, it was done, and Ignis was offering him another spoonful, (regrettably by the handle this time) and it was just...heaven. Heaven on a spoon. Spicy, delicious, and hot. Even the small spoonful turned his stomach warmly, and he grinned, only able to give Ignis a thumb's up, rather than a verbal response as the spice sat heavy on his tongue. Then, Ignis tasted it, and, well, Prompto wasn't sure he'd ever seen Ignis quite that shade of red, and his stomach was flopping for an entirely different reason.

"Yeah, I know, I like things a little spicier." He knew Noctis didn't care for too much spice, but he'd never gotten that reaction from Ignis before. He prepared to ask if Ignis was okay, but then he chuckled, and Prompto bit his tongue. Okay, if he could chuckle, he was probably okay, right?

"Let's eat."

"Okay!" He helped again by getting down the proper bowls, holding them out at arm's length as though he might make Ignis furious if he got any closer, and then they were back out at the couch, where Noctis hastily put away his phone to accept his bowl. Ignis didn't insist they eat at the table, like he might have normally, but sat on the other end of Noct's sectional, waiting for something.

Noctis sputtered and coughed, and Prompto couldn't help but give a small laugh.

"Too spicy for you there, buddy?"

"Holy shit, Prompto! What did you do to it?!"

"Me?! What makes you think it's my fault?!"

"Everyone knows you're the spice daemon!" Noct's face was bright red, eyes wide.

"Yet, I clearly recall that you were the one who requested this meal, Highness."

"Shut up, Specs! I didn't realize it was gonna be like this!" He coughed again, his face growing just that much more red, and Prompto couldn't help but chuckle again. "You think this is funny?!"

"Hilarious." He grinned as he took a spoonful for himself, and, just honestly, he couldn't see the problem. For him, the amount of heat was perfect, but then, Ignis too had, in his own way, commented on how spicy it was. Prompto glanced over, but while his face wasn't its normal pale color, Ignis was steadily taking bite after bite without any problem, his eyes watching Noct as he tried to take another bite, only to swear loudly again.

"You are aware that it's not actually on fire, are you not?" Prompto snorted at the jab, which dissolved into a small fit of laughter. When he looked up again, Ignis' eyes were on him, and not exactly what Prompto would call an amused way. It killed the laughter, and he cleared his throat, and those eyes drifted away from him again. Okay, it was time to stop being mean, and to start being serious.

"Do you want something, else, Noct?" He wasn't going to make Ignis make something else, but, "Like a sandwich or something?" Prompto was terrible with anything more complicated than toast, but he could manage to assemble a sandwich.

"No! I don't!" He said that, but Ignis was already getting up, and Prompto's heart sank in his stomach a little. Maybe he had screwed his up royally. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut about the pepper and pepper seeds. "I am going to eat this, dammit!"

"Does that mean you would refuse a glass of milk as well?"

"No!" Noct actually leaned forward to glare off in the direction Ignis had gone in, "I definitely want that!" Both his voice and his face were set in childish pout mode, and Prompto allowed himself a weak smile before he settled in to actually eat his curry.

"Prompto?" Ignis' voice called to him. "Would you like milk as well?"

"No thanks!" Prompto called after Ignis' voice, his bite stuffed in one cheek so that he wouldn't really sound like he was talking with his mouth full. "I'm good!" Better than good. You know, whatever, Noct could think this curry was fire in a bowl all he wanted. Prompto thought it was perfect.

He was nearly halfway through when Ignis returned with two glasses of milk, the larger of the two handed over to Noct, and for a second, Prompto thought Noct was going to pour it directly into his bowl, but thankfully he just sat it aside. He took a sip from it between every single bite, but he didn't complain again. Once he'd finished eating, Ignis took their bowls from them and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Back to our adventure?"

"You bet!" Prompto said with a grin, even though he felt, as he always did, a little guilty that Ignis had just cooked, and was now going to do all the cleaning too. On the one hand, yeah, guilt, but on the other, reminder: the kitchen was Ignis' territory, and none should enter unless invited. He'd already tempted fate once, it was better to not do it again.

They settled back down into their gaming, and for a few minutes, Ignis and all the thoughts that came with him were forgotten. Lights, sounds, and reaction times overtook the majority of his senses, and in fact, Prompto barely even thought about Noct, except when he started to backseat game, not that Prompto wasn't guilty of that, too, from time to time.

Suddenly, Ignis was back in the room, and Prompto was practically tripping over himself to get up and help him. The guy had three plates balanced precariously in his arms, and yeah, duh, this was Ignis with his impeccable balance, but three plates on his first day was a little much. "You should have called! We could have helped!"

"Nonsense, I'm perfectly capable of this."

The space music sounds were shut off as Noct paused the game again, and his royal princeliness did nothing more than hold his hand out for his plate, but Prompto didn't miss the way his face lit up when he saw what was on said plate. "Ice cream? Really?"

"May it soothe your abused tongue."

"Thanks, Specs." For a moment, there it was, so obvious it was almost something he could touch, the old bond between them that nothing would ever really break. The moment was gone as fast as it came, and then it was Prompto's turn to be astonished by what he saw on his plate.

"Are you sure I can have this?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?"

"Dude! This is your special tart thing!"

"Tenebraean Opera Cake," Ignis gently corrected.

"Whatever it's called! It's special!"

"Yeah? So?" Noct was already rolling his eyes. Prompto only panicked inside more.

"What if Ignis got run over by a car tomorrow and these were the last tarts you were ever able to have?"

And _now_ Noctis was trying his best not to laugh at him. "Then I'd be glad you got to try them before his untimely end. Just eat."

"But--"

"Eat your dessert, Prom."

Prompto huffed, but settled down with his dessert. He ate some of the ice cream first, which was vanilla, and super pleasing against his tongue. He couldn't tell if Ignis had made the ice cream himself (though Prompto totally wouldn't have been surprised if he had), but he could definitely tell it was a higher grade of ice cream than he was used to. It was too smooth, too pure vanilla and not enough drowned in sugar to be anything that Prompto could just find at the grocery store on his way home.

After about three bites of ice cream he looked up from his plate and found not one, but two pairs of eyes on him. Both of them were staring at him, judging and waiting, and Prompto felt his face heat up. "Shut up!" He directed at Noctis, who only smiled smugly at him, just like the cats he liked so much.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're definitely thinking it!"

"Maybe I am. You can't prove anything." Noctis reached out with his spoon and lightly rapped it against Prompto's plate, and Prompto had the decency to roll his eyes just as well as he knew Noctis could before he returned his attention to the dessert. He stalled by taking two more bites of ice cream before he decided that Noct really wasn't going to change his mind and take the tart back. He dug his spoon into it--

And realized that Noctis had returned to watching him, and Ignis had never stopped. "Seriously?!" He snapped at Noctis, who only laughed at him.

"I can't help it. You're making a show out of it."

"I am not!" With that, Prompto took the spoonful and shoved it into his mouth, as though that didn't exactly prove Noct's point. Then, for a moment, everything in his head fell silent, because, of course, the tart was just that damn good. The berries were sweet but also a little tart, and they weren't like anything he'd ever had before. Heck, the entire thing wasn't like anything he'd ever had before, and he stared at it, as though it were some sort of mystical being on par with the Astrals before he managed to swallow and ask, like an idiot, "What kind of berries are these?"

"Ulwaat berries." Ignis supplied. "Is it good?"

"It's bad," Noctis answered for him. "It's so bad he wants me to just take his plate away--"

Prompto swatted the hand that came too close to his plate with his spoon, and, of course, Noctis only snickered as he shook his hand, like he'd actually hurt him. "Noct, buddy, I swear I will bite you."

"You've done it now, Specs. He's rabid!"

More cackling laughter filled the room between them, but soon enough, they all settled back into their desserts, and too soon their plates were empty, and Prompto was handing his over into Ignis' waiting hand.

"Seriously, Iggy. Best thing you've ever made." Ignis gave him a look, a look Prompto couldn't quite put a name too, before it was replaced with a careful smile, and a soft thank you as the plate was tugged from his fingers. He and Noct went back to their gaming after that, but even after Ignis left for the night with the usual threat of coming down to check on them that look lingered in the back of his mind. It lingered until it was almost two a.m. and Noctis was turning off the game because they both could barely see straight.

"You gonna just stay?"

"Yeah." It was an old song and dance now, after midnight he wasn't to go out on the dangerous Insomnian night streets alone, and Noct dug some miraculously clean blankets and pillows out of a closet Ignis probably kept tabs on, and he slept on the couch. Tonight was no different, except that before he flicked off the lights, Noctis paused. "Thanks for coming over, even though Ignis was being a dick."

"It's fine. He wasn't bad." At least, not after they'd actually gotten back to the apartment. Maybe he wasn't quite so angry anymore. Or maybe he was still plotting his revenge for whatever it was he'd done to make him mad in the first place.

"Still." Noct shrugged in that dismissive sort of way he always did when it came to being emotional. "G'night."

"Night." The light was flicked off, and Prompto was left lying on the couch knowing that in the morning they really would have to do stuff like read, homework, and study, and, really, really dreading it.

By morning, the thought of impending exams and study sheets had overtaken him, and he truly thought of little else.

Monday brought with it sickness.

It wasn't really that bad, at least to start. Prompto had woken up that morning with a sore throat, and he'd pretty much instantly resigned himself to having caught the latest bug that was making its way through their class. It was a little surprising that he'd gotten it before Noct, though. The way it normally went, Noct tended to catch whatever bug first and was absolutely miserable for about two days until he sprung back completely healthy in a way their classmates called unfair. Prompto was the opposite. If he caught the bug at all, it was from Noctis, and he suffered on a less severe level for nearly two weeks. So yeah, it was a little surprising that he was sick without Noct having gotten sick first, but, as he kept telling Noct, it was just a sore throat and a small cough, and that was fine. They had bigger fish to fry right now.

Bigger fish included studying for exams. The first exam - physics - wasn't for a week yet, but already the cramming had started and probably should have been started another week before. Prompto couldn't let a cold get the best of him right now. He needed to pass.

The real coughing fits began on Tuesday. It happened frequently, no matter how he tried to keep it quiet during class, but even so, Prompto counted himself a little lucky. He'd expected the cold to move up into his nose and sinuses overnight, but instead it seemed like this was going to just seep into a chest cold. His throat was raw, sore, and he hated the attention his coughs drew, but it wasn't draining or constant like a head cold. He could handle a cough and still do school work properly.

Before he'd driven off with Noctis that afternoon, Ignis had suggested honey and lemon tea, and Prompto gratefully took the advice, yet, somehow, every time he drank a cup of honey-lemon tea, the cough seemed to get just that much worse.

By Wednesday, it seemed like the cough would take over his entire life, and the day wasn't made any better by Noct telling him that they would have to cancel game night on Friday. His dad, the _King_ , wanted him at some apparently important meetings with Ignis Friday afternoon. It was important, and he'd been warned to not wiggle out of it.

"It's --fine," Prompto told him between coughs. "I know this --happens."

"Still," Noct told him, eyebrows knit together in worry. "I don't like missing it. It's our thing."

Prompto swallowed, and felt like he was at least a little bit more in control of his cough, at least for the next five seconds or so. "Nah, we'll make it up next week after our last exam, right?"

"Yeah," Noctis nodded, "And I guess it'll be good for you to go home anyway. Get some rest for your damn cough."

"Right." Like he was going to be doing any resting, it would all be studying.

They went their separate ways after school, if only because Prompto had a delivery shift to get to, and by the time it was time to close his books and get into bed, the cough had tapered off a little bit, and, thankfully, he was able to fall asleep quickly, with minimal coughing.

He dreamed strangely, only faintly aware that it wasn't real, a thought that slid across his brain now and then, that he was asleep and could wake up. It still felt real.

In the dream, his parents were home, and the exams were finished, and he was confident that he'd passed. They were going to celebrate. He was running, a dog nipping at his heels, his dog. A dog he was dimly aware he didn't really own, just like he was dimly aware that the house they approached wasn't the one he lived in. The house he entered wasn't narrow and empty, it was bright and open, filled with Crystallo Nox decorations that they'd never had. Beautiful lighted crystals in various colors hung from the ceiling, just out of reach, the banisters glowed with winding fairy lights, and small dragons of every color imaginable hung from hooks wherever he looked.

His house had never looked like this, like it was out of a holiday magazine, but the ache in his chest said with was what it was meant to be like.

 _"Mom?"_ No response came, but he wandered off to where he knew the kitchen was anyway. The kitchen, too, unfamiliar, but it was wide, bright, and open with an entire table in the middle of it where his parents sat, laughing, while Ignis handed them plates of crepes.

Ignis.

Oh no. No, no, no, no! Ignis wasn't allowed here! None of them were! Ignis, Gladio, or Noctis. He'd crafted his friendship with Noctis carefully, making sure that he never came to his house, though Prompto was also sure he knew where it was. His house was empty, and too clean to push off the lack of people on "They're not home from work yet." Even though that technically wasn't a lie. His parents just took a lot longer to come home from work, but he knew. He'd always known the look that people got when they even hinted that one's parents weren't regularly home. Pity, hatred, despair. It changed how they looked at you, and so Prompto had always kept them away. He was already lesser. He didn't need them to think it even more.

Yet here Ignis was, in their kitchen, and Prompto panicked inside, feeling like he couldn't breathe.

 _"You don't belong here."_ It wasn't Prompto that spoke, but Ignis, suddenly right in front of him, hand around his wrist, _the_ wrist. The one he kept covered. The one no one could ever see bare. He squeezed it so tightly that it hurt, but not in his wrist. It hurt in his chest, as though Ignis were gripping his heart instead. _"I'll take it from here. You need to leave now."_

Before Prompto could think to reply, to argue, he was sitting up in bed, his lungs seeming to try and come up through his throat. No matter how much he coughed, it didn't feel like relief. Something remained stuck. He coughed until he wheezed, hands clasped over his mouth. He coughed until he was curled up on himself, and he swore his stomach was going to heave up his dinner, and still he coughed.

He coughed until something finally gave, and something distinctly more solid than saliva hit his hands.

His heart hammered away in his chest as the cough finally died and panic set in. Was it blood? Had he just coughed up a glob of blood that had started to gel in his lungs? Was this pneumonia? Tuberculosis? Had he very much misjudged what he had and how serious it was? He couldn't see in the dark, and so he scrambled out of blankets and almost tripped over his school bag to turn on the light.

When he looked, Prompto suddenly very much wished that it was blood instead of what it actually was.

The thing in his palm was saliva covered, yet it was still very clearly a small flower.

Prompto had hanahaki.

He knees gave out beneath him, and he was glad that there was no one home to hear the sound of him tumbling to the floor. It probably hurt, the way his knees knocked against the wood floor, but Prompto couldn't even feel it over the shock of the thing in his hand.

It was small. Most people started with petals, they said. If you were unfortunate enough to get the Hana in your lungs, it started with petals, bits of flowers to warn you. This wasn't a petal. It was a whole flower, but it was so small. It wasn't even the size of his pinky fingernail. It was tiny, wet, and bright yellow. Inexplicably, it made him think of the person he knew he'd grown it for. Ignis. He'd grown this thing for Ignis.

He knew it was Ignis he pined for, but it didn't make sense. Prompto had been crushing on Ignis for over a year. Soft stolen glances at a man he knew he couldn't have. Subtle attempts at making said man's life just a little easier. The way his heart hammered away in his chest when Ignis bothered to notice something he liked or didn't like, hell, the way his heat pounded when Ignis seemed to notice him at all. He'd had crushes on other people, yammered away about them as he was no doubt expected to by this point, but Ignis had been the serious, constant one he didn't talk about. The crush he _couldn't_ talk about.

If he had been going to get hanahaki for Ignis, wouldn't he have gotten it long ago? Why now? Instead of six months ago? Why now? Instead of at Sweetheart's Festival? It took a minute, but then the answer appeared to him plain as day. There was a huge difference between crushing on someone he considered a friend and pining for someone who had decided they could no longer even be friendly. The man he'd had a crush on had called him a stranger, and it had gone downhill from there. It was..."better" now, though Prompto wouldn't still call it friendly, but it was improvement. It probably didn't matter. The damage had probably already been done by that point. Before, he hadn't been pining for his affection, _any_ affection, and now he was.

He was growing flowers in his lungs for Ignis, and, totally unironically, it was the worst feeling in the world.

Prompto didn't move. He didn't cough. He didn't even look away from the tiny yellow thing in his palm until his alarm went off suddenly, startling him. It was supposed to be time for him to get up and go for his morning run, but instead he scrambled to his feet and ran downstairs to the old desktop he normally only used to research his school papers on. The alarm upstairs continued to blare for five more minutes before he realized it was still on and ran back upstairs to turn it off.

At some point after logging onto the desktop he swallowed for what was probably the first time since he'd hacked up his first flower, and his throat felt worse than it ever had before. It truly felt like razor blades ripping his throat apart all the way down. Was it always going to feel like this? Until this ended?

Was it going to end?

Prompto groaned, banging his head against the desk and forcing himself to not go down that rabbit hole. Not yet. For now. Well. For real right now, he didn't know what kind of flower he'd coughed up, and he really wanted to know.

"Small" and "yellow" apparently didn't narrow down flower variations very much, but with a little more time and digging, he had his answer. Solidago, commonly known as goldenrod. It all sort of made sense now, why he had a tiny flower instead of petals. Goldenrod didn't bloom one flower at a time, it bloomed giant clusters all on one plant, and so... So soon enough, he was going to be coughing up great clusters of yellow flowers. Great. Wonderful. Amazing.

His chest ached, and Prompto wanted to die.

Well. If he waited long enough, he could definitely have that wish, l-o-l.

Prompto rolled his eyes at himself, and how pathetic he, and this whole situation, was, before turning the computer off with a huff and pushing himself away from it. There was no time for his morning run now. In fact, the only time he had now was to run to school.

By gym class he'd had three more coughing fits, all of which resulted in small little yellow flowers he had to stuff in his pockets and press between the pages of books. Noct was so worried that he wasn't even trying to sleep in class, his gaze flitting over to him whenever Prompto so much chuffed. It was sweet, really, but Prompto didn't want him to look at him. Prompto didn't want him to know. Prompto didn't want anyone to know.

He managed to get through the day without Noct seeing anything, though his friend did say, "I think you should go to the doctor, Prompto. It's getting worse."

"Nah, it'll be fine. You know how it is, always gets worse and then you wake up one morning and you're like woah!" He raised his voice too high, and he ended up coughing again, the feel of a goldenrod bloom hitting his fingers before he forced himself to smile and continued. "And you feel like a thousand percent better."

"I guess. If you're sure."

"Totally." It was actually a total lie, but then, right now, it felt like his entire life was a total lie. Honestly , it often felt like that, after all, his very existence was probably just a wish and a lie combined, but for Noct, for his friends, he'd lie right up to the day he died. Which was apparently going to be a lot sooner than he'd thought it would be.

That night was awful. He slept fitfully, and it seemed like he woke up every single hour coughing. Not every fit resulted in a flower being evicted from his lungs, but it hardly mattered when the coughing was all it took to deplete his sleep and put him in a mood that was down enough for Noctis to notice, despite Prompto's best smiles. He didn't say anything, but Prompto could feel him hovering just a little bit closer, just enough that Prompto really worried that Noctis going to see something. He didn't. All day Prompto subtly coughed up little buds and stuck them wherever he could, and Noctis just...didn't see it. It was a relief, and when the final bell rang Prompto let his shoulders sag in relief. At least for today, it was over.

Or so he thought.

Prompto would never know if the flowers had fallen out of a book, or a pocket, or his bag. All he knew was a moment or sheer terror as Noctis held the tiny buds in his hand, and the looked him straight in the eyes. "Tell me it's not what I think it is. Tell me it's not the Hana."

His voice was soft, and begging. He begged for a lie. He begged for it to not be a lie, but Prompto couldn't bring himself to hold his friend's gaze and lie. Not this time. "I can't tell you that." What else could it be? Oh hey, he was just gonna shower some girl in tiny, wet, flowers. Gross, but endearing, right? No. Not even Noct would buy that.

Noctis took a deep breath and held it. After a moment, he let it out, and then he spoke. "Okay. We're leaving now." Without his consent, Noctis grabbed his wrist and pulled, and Prompto had no choice but to follow as he was led toward the front doors.

"Dude, you have a meeting you need to get to." He had hoped the reminder would calm him, but instead the hand on his wrist gripped him tighter, and Noctis began to raise his voice.

"Fuck the meeting!" An underclass girl, who's name Prompto didn't actually know, flinched away from them at the tone of Noct's yelling. "Fuck my father! Fuck Ignis! Fuck all of this! We are going out! Okay?!"

"Okay! Okay. Just. Noct. Calm down."

"You calm down!"

The front doors were pushed open, and Prompto coughed again as the cold air hit his lungs. It only made Noctis begin to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who are curious, we didn't just randomly pick flowers, because we are some of those people who care WAY too much about the Language of Flowers.
> 
> For Ignis, marigolds (specifically African marigolds) have a lot of meanings to choose from, such as cheer, beauty, warmth of sunrise, creativity, drive to succeed, or even _winning the affections of someone through hard work._ They can also be used to portray despair and grief over a loss of love. Also, obviously, marigolds are bright and sunny in appearance, and that certainly makes a certain amount of sense for Prompto.
> 
> For Prompto, goldenrod (specifically the fireworks variety) symbolize encouragement, growth, good luck or fortune to others. They're also sympathy flowers, given in support of someone who's lost someone, or having a difficult time. Though they are often considered weeds, or wild flowers, they are also beautiful, and have medicinal properties. On a personal level, seeing goldenrod has always indicated the end of summer and the beginning of fall, just as Ignis came into Prompto's life as he began his new season in his friendship with Noctis.


	7. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put all 9 versions of the hymn from FFX on a playlist and listened to that for two weeks. 10/10 but do not recommend.

Ignis was exhausted.  He was struggling, to be sure, with the revelation of who the subject of his hanahaki was.  He’d kept it together, despite the shock of it, long enough for the usual routine – dinner and the clean up that followed.  He'd reminded the boys that he was only upstairs should they require anything and that he absolutely would be checking in later in the weekend to ensure they got at least _some_ study time in.  And then he’d quietly slipped away to his own apartment, readied himself for bed, and proceeded not to sleep a wink that night.  And in the days that followed, truth be told, he hadn’t fared much better, trading sleep for increasing portions of Ebony to keep him functional and alert.  Business as usual, in a sense, though the causes certainly differed.

He kept turning it over in his mind.  Physically, of course, the teen was very much his type:  fair haired and bright eyed, heavily freckled, trim and energetic with enthusiasm for miles.  That note of uncertainty only made him feel real, down-to-earth, a far cry from past experiences measured more by arrogance and swagger.  Unlike many of Ignis’s past experiences, Promto was empathic.  The boy loved animals, if the number of cat videos he’d shown the prince on Moogletube in the last few days alone were any measure, and he adapted to the prince’s moods with more ease and grace than Ignis himself had in many years.  Ignis had known the prince for nearly a lifetime, but Prompto already seemed to understand him better.

Truth be told, the more Ignis saw of the blond, the more it became self-evident that he would have developed feelings for him – and the more frustrating the situation became for him to attempt to understand.  Were there reasons it would have been foolish to confess to the blond?  Absolutely.  He was still in high school, for one, and while he was only two years younger, the perception of those years was not insignificant, at their age.  But this would not always be the case.  An expression of affection – or the rejection of those feelings, for that matter – did not necessarily have to lead to an escalation of their presumed friendship.  This alone was no reason to hold his tongue.

There was the matter of the teen’s friendship with the prince and the potential strain any eventual awkwardness might have on it, particularly given the boys were near graduation, soon to embark upon their adult lives.  There was plentiful potential for drift without a failed relationship to consider.  And yet.  If their friendship was not strong enough to weather such a strain, it was likely already doomed from the start.

And certainly, there was his unerring ability to somehow self-destruct every romantic relationship he’d ever attempted, but even the absolute hopelessness of anything long term wasn’t sufficient justification.  A failed relationship was preferable to surgery and all its risks, surely?

But even in absentia he was the same person he’d been before.  Or at least somewhat the same person, as two years of memories was. . . quite a lot, he must admit.  But he trusted himself.  He had to believe he’d known what he was doing.  If it didn’t make sense now, there had to be some context he was missing, lost when they’d dug the roots from his lungs.

But what context could be so severe that he’d go through with the surgery without even trying?  Without speaking up?  The blond clearly didn’t know about Ignis's former affections.  He didn’t act like someone who was dealing with the unfortunate after effects of an unwanted confession.  He acted like someone whose friend had, suddenly and without explanation, rejected him from his life.

Had they been friends, at least?  Had they been friends already, when Ignis had realized his feelings were blooming into something more?  Had he already been fond when he’d noticed the way the blond's laugh stuttered when he was caught by surprise, or when he’d noticed the way cheer forcibly covered uncertainty, nails bitten to the quick?  Had they already been familiar when he’d noticed the way the blond went all quiet when he thought no one was watching, or how carefully and earnestly he adapted to the mood of the room?

Wondering was liable to drive him _mad_.

And now that he knew, he was finding Prompto everywhere.  He couldn’t be distracted, despite his best efforts.  The weekend ending saw the teens returning to school to focus on their coming exams, but Monday brought Ignis no relief.  His duties increased incrementally; though he still was not permitted to return to training, he had begun to sit in on meetings again, to a limited extent.  It didn’t make for as full a day as he was accustomed, but it was a welcome return to some semblance of his usual routine.  Furthermore, as the school week progressed, the blond spent less time at the prince’s apartment, though whether that was due to it being a school night, studying for finals, or the seasonal illness the blond appeared to be coming down with, he couldn’t presume.  He certainly wasn’t complaining; it would not be a joy to nurse the prince if he caught it as well, inevitable as that may be.  And certainly his absence should have made it easier to focus his mind on the tasks at hand.  And yet.  Every little gap made him wonder. 

When Ignis took advantage of the extra space in his schedule to step out for a coffee, he found himself baffled by the barista’s declaration that it had “been a while” and it was “good to see him coming around again.”  On Wednesday, while pondering on what to make his highness for dinner, he found a curious note in red ink next to a recipe for dry-aged tender roast stew.  “No tomatoes, P.”  On a whim, he flipped slower, soon identifying a note on a kebab recipe that read “uncooked tomatoes okay, P” and – Shiva’s jewels – no less than three variations on the same green curry recipe that he had no recollection of recording.  He tried to push these realizations aside, to compartmentalize in the manner in which he was accustomed, but in those moments without something immediate to occupy his mind, the quiet moments that were usually a relief, he found himself lingering.  Obsessing, regardless of how hopeless he knew it must have been.  There must have been something.  He trusted in his own judgement at least that much.  But not knowing. . .

It was difficult.  And he wasn’t getting much sleep.  To the extent, even, that certain people were beginning to comment on it as the week grew longer.  He assured them it would pass, as it always does.  And if he implied that the lack of sleep was due to one of his irregular but persistent bouts of insomnia – an affliction he’d struggled with even before he’d been selected as a retainer to the crown – rather than his current distraction, well.  It really was none of their business anyway, was it?

Friday, however, was another matter.  Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to the weekend and let it be believed he intended to break the cycle and catch up on some sleep – unlikely enough, whatever his intentions.  There were meetings to get through yet – meetings delayed until late enough that the prince could attend as required without missing classes during the crucial period leading up to exams.  He would, of course, assist the teen with studying for his remaining exams over the weekend, as well as the usual cooking and cleaning by extension.  Perhaps he would manage a little extra sleep in there somewhere, though the problem at present was hardly having the time to do so.  The only real fix for his current situation was to accept it, to take it for what it was and move on.  After all, it was far too late to take it back, and if he had the full picture, he suspected he wouldn’t wish to even if he could.

Ignis pulled up to the curb at his usual spot in front of the school, knowing that though the next few hours may seem long, they were, after all, only a few hours yet.  In the meantime, he and the prince might review his exam schedule so they could properly utilize the time they had.  If they planned carefully, they ought to get plentiful studying time in while still allowing for the occasional game break – the teen would, after all, revolt if the weekend were all work and no play.  Ignis also planned to make pizza – homemade rather than store bought, while more work, was healthier, though there was only so much he could hide in bread dripping with cheese and meat.  The prince would appreciate it, in any case, and in turn Ignis could ensure His Highness’s meal included at least some nutritional content.

Of course, for this plan to proceed, this prince had to actually get in the car.  Ignis frowned.  He’d been watching since he’d pulled up, but there had been no sign of either teen, which was, to say the least, highly suspect.  He clipped his earpiece on and typed the prince’s cell number into his phone, stepping out of the car to scan the thinning crowds as he waited.  The phone rang once, twice, then cut off midway through the third ring, sending him to voice mail.  His call had been declined.  He knew it, and the choice to decline the call rather than let it ring out had likely been deliberate.  He scowled, scrolling through his phone for another number – one he’d been alarmed to discover already in his phone earlier in the week.  As far as he recalled, he’d never had need to call the blond before, but it was always best to be prepared.

This time, it didn’t even make it to the second ring.

Ignis scanned his surroundings one last time, then ducked back into the car, pausing only long enough to send off a text to Gladio so the man could handle informing the appropriate persons of the situation, should Ignis not manage to round up the prince in time.  He had no real concerns that the prince was in danger, though it was a given he’d follow up once he’d confirmed as much.  No, whatever goodwill that had followed his surgery was now clearly spent, and His Highness was back to shirking his duties if he thought he could get away with it.  Ignis was. . . angry, yes, a bit, but mostly disappointed.  The teen had gotten so very much better at accepting his responsibilities, and this felt like one colossal step back.

Very well, then.  He would deal with this.  He pulled up the application for the GPS tracker on His Highness’s cell phone, giving a soft hum  when he saw the active blip once it had connected.  Good.  Noctis wasn’t so foolish as to turn his phone off entirely.  No doubt he was smart enough to understand Ignis would be on his way – but however much he wanted to avoid him, failing to do so was always better than having the entire Crownsguard arrive to escort him home.  Noctis had, after all, learned that lesson the hard way years ago.  And once he’d determined exactly where the prince was, relative to his current position, it was a simple matter of driving there. . . and actually finding them. 

He pulled out into the road, focusing his attention on making his way through traffic.  As the minutes passed, it became clear that the teens were in. . . not the best part of the city, though certainly not the worst.  If they could manage to keep their heads down, they’d likely remain unobtrusive enough for it not to matter.  What were the chances?

Ignis spotted them coming out of a worn, blocky building, the neon letters proudly reading “The Golden Saucer” in all its peeling, mismatched glory.  Something about that rang a bell.  Was that the name of the arcade Prompto had been rambling about earlier in the week?  Something about an original Justice Monsters game?  And then he’d glanced at Ignis, gaze downcast, muttered something about it not being somewhere Noct was probably cleared to go anyway, and dropped the subject entirely.  Yet here they were, the prince shirking his duties to do just that.  Splendid.

He pulled around the block, double checked that he’d locked the car before making his way to where he’d seen the boys, hoping to catch them by surprise.  The expression on the prince’s face when he turned the corner and saw Ignis standing there certainly would have comical if not for the circumstances.  Blue eyes widened, then narrowed as they flickered left, then right, considering an avenue of escape.  Ultimately, he chose to stay, though the hand clasped on his arm may have had something to do with it.  They knew they were in trouble.  There was no helping it, now.  And Noctis wouldn't abandon a friend so easily to the wrath of his long-suffering retainers.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.”  Ignis’s voice tone was even.  Calm.  Reasonable.  And cold as Shiva’s unmentionables.  “You are due at the citadel in – “ a quick glance at his watch – “less than 20 minutes.”  A deadline he clearly wasn’t going to make.  He couldn’t say he was envious of Gladio having to handle that situation.  “Must we really – ”

Ignis startled slightly at the long whistle that interrupted the beginning of what was sure to be a long lecture.  He felt. . . genuinely offended by the interruption, to be honest, though the hooligans approaching were sure to be trouble.  Two coming up behind the two teens, slouched, cocky, hands in the pockets of their worn jackets.  One was tall, and the other, while more average, looked as though he’d possibly never been introduced to a toothbrush.  Disgusting and possibly armed.  And – yes, one behind him, leering with distinctly rodent-like features.  Three against three, if worse came to worse.  Hardly fair.

“Is that the prince?”  Mockery practically dripped from the man’s tone.  The tall one was clearly the leader.  He was bigger than the other two.  Stronger, no doubt.  Likely slower.  Child’s play.  “Coming down to slum it with us plebs, huh?”

Ignis sighed – not the most diplomatic of sounds, but he was.  He was just so tired.  He just wanted to take the prince to that last meeting and finish out his day.  They had neither the time nor the energy for. . . whatever this was.  And, without a doubt, it was fraying his last nerve.

“This doesn’t concern you.”  He positioned himself as best he could between the prince and these idiotic thugs.  Honestly.  Had they no sense at all?  “Please leave us in peace, and we shall do the same.”

“Or what, you’re gonna to make me?”  The big guy sniggered.  He laughed like he knew he was hilarious and they were just too stupid to see it.  All scorn and cliché movie lines.  How incredibly trite.  “Hey, yer highness.  Your butler gonna beat me up?”

“If he has to, yeah.”  He could practically hear the smirk in the prince’s voice.  He was definitely not helping.

He glanced over his shoulder – assessing the location of the third assailant as much as shooting the prince a warning look.  Honestly, he ought to be a bit more circumspect for Prompto’s sake, if nothing else.  The blond looked considerably more anxious about the situation.  And rightly so.  While there was no doubt he and Noctis could hold their own in combat – assuming no one was packing, which was not an assumption they could make at this point – the blond was another matter.  And Ignis, for one, was wholly unamused the prince was taking this so lightly.  This did not need to escalate.

“Consider what you are doing,” he tried again.  If he could talk these men down, he would.  The last thing they needed was someone to see the actual prince of Lucis brawling on the streets, which seemed to be the direction this was going, and six save them if there were pictures.  “Assalting a member of the royal family is a serious charge.  You should walk away now.”

There was a giggle behind him, and Ignis again glanced back to see rat-face was. . . apparently just so  _very_ tickled by his attempt to defuse the situation.  Lovely.  Now the big guy was wholly unlikely to back down.  Doing so would risk his so-called street cred.  Ugh.

“Yeah?”  One hand came up to give his shoulder a light shove, clearly more about offending his ego than doing any damage.  Ignis took it.  “How about his butler?  That a capital offense?”

“I’m honestly surprised you have the brainpower to comprehend the concept.”  That was it.  There went his last nerve - but godsdamnit, he was nobody's butler.  And he certainly hadn’t meant to say that aloud.  It hadn’t been expected, either, judging by the scandalized gasp behind him.  Well, shit.

Big guy’s expression twisted in a snarl, and Ignis was stumbling backward before he registered the blow.  His glasses clattered to the ground, and for a moment, he was nearly overcome by sheer surprise, blinking into the sudden blur of his surroundings.  Had he really not seen that coming?  Gods, he needed sleep, perhaps moreso than he was giving himself credit for.  He hadn’t been expecting that speed, either – looks could be deceiving, it seemed. And honestly, he should have known better, considering the frequency with which he sparred with the prince's shield.  So much for diffusing the situation.

He pulled away from the hands that had caught his shoulders, his gaze flickering between the assailants cautiously before he moved toward where his glasses had fallen.  However, a foot beat him there, crushing his spectacles as a worn tennis shoe ground them against the cracked concrete to a soundtrack of those inane giggles.  Ignis gave an inarticulate, frustrated growl, the sound soft despite the emotion behind it.  They were literally man-children.  Perhaps he really  _was_ in a cliche movie scene.  And yes, of course he had a backup pair of glasses – but certainly not with him now.  It wasn’t like those were the most inexpensive frames he’d ever bought, either. . .

Gods, he hated his back up glasses.

Ignis accepted the hand that pulled him back to his feet, though when he looked up into the prince’s eyes, for the first time in this whole scenario, he felt truly chilled.  The teen's brow was drawn together, his expression tight with barely contained anger in contrast to his earlier cockiness.  Despite it all, the two of them were as good as brothers, and Noctis had never had much tolerance for seeing those he cared about get hurt.  Regardless of being in the middle of a disagreement, he was more than willing to stand up for him if the need arose.  And more importantly, his normally deep blue eyes had begun to glow a vivid pink, his latent magic reacting to his emotions.  Suddenly, this had become much, much more dangerous.  Never mind the PR nightmare of the prince getting into street fights.  The teen didn’t have the best control of his magic in its raw form.  If he let loose now, it was entirely possible someone would die - and perhaps that someone wouldn't even be who he was aiming for.

He leveled a significant look at the blond at the prince's side, raising a hand in a ‘stay back’ sort of gesture as he again pulled away from friendly hands.  It was time to finish this.  He knew what he had to do.

“Very well, then.”  A flash of blue light, and he had a pair of training daggers in hand.  A better blunt force weapon than his fists, but not as deadly as a sharpened blade.  After all, he didn’t actually want to kill these fools, if he could help it.  “On your own heads be it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up and listened to rat giggles while writing this. It did not sound like I expected.
> 
> Oh yeah. And I know they stated Ignis's vision wasn't that bad in game. Honestly, I'm just basing his vision off my own. Techincally I'm still legal to drive without glasses (it's better if I don't, though). My vision isn't that bad. But there's still blur! For those of you who don't wear glasses, you'll have to just take my word on the assertion that there's plenty of room for blur long before your vision is actually considered worse than "not bad" (lol).
> 
> I had a bit of a hard time with this chapter. Please consider validating me on your way out. <3


	8. Noctis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's not a Prompto chapter, but a Noctis chapter! This one is written by Charmkeeper. There will also be a Gladio chapter written by BossGoose before the end of the story.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

Noctis couldn't do this again.

It had all started out weeks and weeks ago now, when Ignis had gotten his yearly cold. Ignis was so... _Ignis_ that for the most part his illness had gone unnoticed, which Noctis was pretty sure had been his goal. The biggest change had been an increase in tea drinking for a few days and the odd cough here or there. It had been nothing major so Noctis had mostly ignored it, as Ignis had probably wanted.

After a few days, the tea drinking had gone back to absurd amounts of Ebony, but the cough had stayed.

It had been pretty easy to push it off as a lingering chest cold, except for that one night, where Ignis had coughed so loudly and harshly that Noctis was pretty sure he'd actually fallen down in the kitchen and Gladio had needed to pick him back up. He should have questioned it then. He should have pushed Ignis then, to a least go to a doctor, to take a day off, to take care of himself.

He hadn't, and Noctis was pretty sure he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

They didn't always get along, but he and Ignis were close. He never said it, but he loved Ignis. They'd known each other for nearly as long as Noctis could remember. Ignis' uncles were practically his own uncles. His father, in a way, was practically Ignis' own father. When Ignis' parents had died, Noctis had grieved with him. Ignis was his advisor, his employee, but he was also his friend...he was also his brother.

He hadn't looked out for Ignis. He'd just assumed that he'd be fine, like he always was. That had made the news that Ignis needed surgery all the harder to bear. Not just the fact that he was that ill, but that Ignis hadn't trusted him with it. He hadn't come to him about it. He hadn't asked for leniency or understanding. No. Ignis had carried on like he always had. Like--

Like they were nothing but an employee and charge.

He'd resolved to make life as easy for him as possible. Nevermind the fact that he'd already been informed that Ignis was now on light duty, he was going to make it just that much easier. He going to make his friend relax. He was going to remind him that they actually were _friends_ dammit. They'd bickered a little bit over it, Ignis calling his condition "just a small growth in his lungs," but in the end, Noctis felt like he'd won. Completed homework (annoying as it was), pizza, and a movie had seemed like a good relaxing night. Noctis couldn't remember the last time Ignis had actually sat and watched a movie with them. It was good, almost good enough to forget that Ignis was sick, at least until he'd started to choke in his sleep.

Ignis hadn't coughed up globs of phlegm, blood, or anything else you expected to see ejected from someone's mouth. Ignis had practically vomited flowers everywhere, and that made it oh so much worse.

People said hanahaki was rare, but as far as Noctis was concerned everyone at least knew someone who'd had it. It was common knowledge that Ignis' own Uncle Ventus had gotten it over his Uncle Tellus when they'd been young. So how rare could it really be that their own nephew now had it? Rare or not, Noctis had never seen it in person, and it was fucking terrifying. He'd called an ambulance while Gladio had made sure that Ignis kept breathing. The pacing and waiting for the ambulance to get there was terrible, but the waiting at the hospital was worse still.

Gladio had been the calm one, sitting in his seat, watching him walk the length of the waiting room time after time after time. It wasn't just that Ignis had hana in his chest. It was what that meant. To Noctis, Ignis had always been a steady force of logic, the older brother who knew what was best at all times, even as he fought against it. He knew Ignis loved his uncles, and deep down he knew Ignis cared for him, but beyond that he'd always assumed Ignis to be what he'd portrayed: Logical and calculating. Not emotional at all.

Not emotional people didn't fucking get hanahaki, and that meant Ignis had emotions. He had emotions hard. Emotions he had never shared with Noctis. Emotions he'd kept hidden from him like they didn't fucking matter. Like their friendship didn't fucking matter. Someone had rejected Ignis. Someone had let him have flowers in his lungs, and Ignis hadn't even told him.

"You gotta stop that."

"Don't tell me what to do, Gladio." Gladio had known, the fact had slipped in between other things, just...the lack of surprise, maybe. Gladio hadn't been surprised to see the bright petals and flowers all over the floor. So Gladio had known. He was a little mad at Gladio for that, even though the small part of him that was rational knew it wasn't his story to tell. Gladio had been loyal to his relationship to Ignis. He'd kept a secret that Ignis had probably asked him to keep. Noctis couldn't actually fault that. It didn't mean he wasn't mad anyway.

"Come here."

"I just said--"

"Just come here." Gladio patted the plastic seat next to him, and with a growl of anger, Noctis went. He threw himself back into the chair so hard that if it hadn't already been up against the wall it would have tipped over. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Gladio's hand went to his shoulder. The touch was warm, and Noctis hadn't realized how much he'd needed it. "It's okay to cry, y'know."

"I'm not gonna cry."

"Why not? Your friend is in the hospital for a really serious thing. He didn't tell you what it was. You just watched him almost choke to death. You're mad and sad at the same time, so why not cry? Get it out. It really does make you feel better."

He knew Gladio was right, but Noctis didn't cry. Not in front of Gladio, anyway.

Later, it got worse. It got worse because he found out that Ignis hadn't confessed to someone who had rejected him. He'd just never confessed and had let the flowers fester in his lungs. Why? Didn't he think he was worthy of their love? Noctis couldn't think of anyone more worthy of being loved...except for perhaps Prompto. That afterthought came several days later, while he watched his friend bounce around fruit baskets.

Prompto didn't know anything. All he knew was that a surgery had happened, and Ignis was recovering. His eager, smiling friend naturally wanted to go visit too. Noctis wasn't sure it was a really good idea to sic Ventus on Prompto. They'd never met, and Ventus could certainly be overwhelming, but Prompto deserved the opportunity to say get well to Ignis. Ignis deserved the comfort. He guessed. He was still mad. He'd probably be mad for a while.

His mood only worsened when Ignis had called Prompto a stranger. Later, when he looked back on it, he'd realize that he'd known it then. He'd known that the reason Ignis hadn't recognized Prompto wasn't the drugs or the pain. It was because Prompto no longer existed in his mind. The surgeon had taken all the flowers away, and all his memories of Prompto had been removed with them. Noctis didn't want to face that reality though. He didn't want to face the fact that his first friend had fallen in love with his best friend. He didn't want to face the fact that he hadn't even bothered to try. Though he hid it well, Noctis knew Prompto had about a 50/50 chance of getting a crush on anything that moved on two legs. Ignis had really had a shot, and even if the answer had been no, Prompto would have been gentle and eager to help Ignis get closure. He hadn't needed to have surgery, but instead he'd chosen to bottle it up and never tell anyone.

Instead, Ignis had chosen to hurt Prompto, because there was no other word for that look on Prompto's face. Being called a stranger had _hurt_ Prompto, and the ghost of it never really left his face, even days later.

Noctis didn't visit Ignis at home again, but it didn't matter. It was only a couple of days before he was told that Ignis was coming back to work. It was only light duty, but it still made Noctis purse his lips. It was too soon. He could be mad all he liked, but there was a part of him that knew he was mad because he loved his friend, not because he didn't care. He wanted Ignis to recover fully before coming back to work, not come back half healed like the idiot he was. Why couldn't he just stay home and let Ventus baby him for a couple days? Surely there were books, or shows, or even video games that Ignis wanted to give his attention to. His entire life wasn't just work, no matter how he made off like it was.

Through the haze of sleep the next morning this was what Noctis had wanted to scream. _'Go home! Sleep! Eat! Rest! ...Take care of yourself. I can do it myself for now.'_

He'd hoped that having Ignis come in and see that his apartment wasn't a complete wreck would be enough to convince him to at least take another day. It would be a lie to say he'd really done it himself. No, he'd recruited Prompto into helping him clean the apartment, but it was clean enough, wasn't it? The mess was minimal, the surfaces were decent. It wasn't like he was buried in trash. Ignis could take another day. He could microwave a breakfast sandwich. He wasn't that helpless.

No. Ignis ignored all the work done and carried on like everything was normal, and when Noctis had finally been awake enough to realize he wasn't going to leave he'd grumbled about it. All the way to school. Where Ignis had treated Prompto like shit. Even for a stranger, Ignis treated him like shit. There was no part of Ignis' body language and tone that didn't say _'You're temporary, get out,'_ and that was when Noctis had been forced to acknowledge that it really had been his memories of Prompto on the other end of those flowers. It wasn't until nearly the second Noctis stormed out of the car that Ignis himself realized what was his mistake. There had been a moment, a second of openness in his expression. He'd looked vulnerable and weak. If he'd stayed there a minute longer maybe there would have been a breakthrough, but Noctis had been beyond caring.

"You know what. Just forget it." He'd slammed the door behind him.

Any good mood he'd had vanished after that . He'd sulked for most of the day, aware that he was doing it but not wanting to dig himself out. He wasn't good at digging himself out of moods. Prompto had dug the mood deeper by showing how much Ignis' words had affected him. It was never Prompto who canceled game night. Noctis was pretty sure he even had himself down as unavailable on Fridays for his job, so he knew it was bullshit. He knew it was Ignis. He'd almost punched something then, but he'd restrained himself and simply stormed off to the car instead, demanding that Ignis fix what he'd damaged.

Noctis didn't think Ignis really had, but he at least got Prompto into the car, and things had gotten a little better from there. Ignis seemed to realize that he wasn't going to get away with treating Prompto like a flake, and his petulant request for green curry would (hopefully) make Prompto happy.

At first the plan went well. He even brightened a bit inside when he smelled Ignis' tarts inside the apartment. Maybe, just maybe, Ignis had already seen the error of his ways by the end of the school day. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Ignis didn't have his memories anymore, but Ignis was smart. Noctis had no doubt that he'd already figured out what he'd had carved out of his chest, and at this point (he'd heard the conversation outside the car. If he'd had any doubts before, there was no way Ignis could push off not knowing about two years worth of game nights), there was no denying who he'd had it for. Maybe Ignis would even grow a pair and tell Prompto why he was acting weird.

...Well. That was probably too much to ask.

The smell of curry replaced the lingering feeling of pastry in his mouth, and Noctis counted it as a victory that he could practically hear Prompto's mouth watering. Why his friend loved spicy shit so much was beyond him. He seemed happier though, and while Noctis knew that he wasn't always the best friend he could be, right now he was doing his damn best.

At some point in the future he'd probably have to apologize to Ignis for his bratty behavior. That was the future though, and right now, Noctis was still on definitely stuck in "he deserves it" mode. So far, the whole thing was just bullshit and not Prompto's fault. So Prompto got to play video games and eat curry, and Ignis could be stuck on the treadmill of thoughts he was probably running on. It'd be fine. Eventually.

"Smells great in there, Iggster!"

No answer came, and despite the simmering anger still churning in his gut, Noctis paused the game and got up. “Everything okay in here, Specs?” Ignis flinched physically, and internally Noctis flinched. Had he been too harsh? Had he pushed too hard? Was this too something he was going to regret?

The answer was yes, but not for the reason he thought it would. His entire body went into full retreat mode the second Ignis held out a spoon for Prompto to fucking taste. Like this was some sort of romantic novel that Gladio pretended he didn't like to read. No. Just. No. Full on nopeing on out of here. His socks skidded across the tile surface, and it was probably a small miracle that he didn't fall right on his ass and destroy the moment himself. Even outside the kitchen door he didn't really feel fully safe, and when he peeked back in all his internal organs felt like they had shriveled up and turned to dust in his belly.

Here was the previous problem: A- Ignis had had hanahaki. B- He'd gotten surgery over a guy he hadn't even confessed to. C- Prompto was that guy. Now the problem was: A- Ignis knew Prompto was that guy and was being super awkward. B- Prompto had a fucking crush on him back. There was no other explanation for that look, that flustered gaze and blush on his cheeks.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was ten times worse than he thought.

He needed help.

Not using the flash meant that the picture he took was sort of grainy and dark, but it conveyed the moment just before Prompto actually leaned forward and took the offered taste. It was definitely scream worthy all on its own, crappy quality and everything.

Scared of being caught Noctis retreated further away from the kitchen door as he dropped the picture into his ongoing conversation with Gladio.

 **Noctis, 6:37 pm** : _GLADIO. WHAT DO I DO?_

A shaking finger sent the picture and text and then Noctis all but collapsed on the couch. His phone pinged a moment later. Nearly panicking at this point, he fumbled to turn his phone to silent before actually going to read the text.

 **Gladio, 6:38 pm **: _Well shit._  
**Noctis, 6:38 pm** : _Very helpful. NOW WHAT DO I DO?!_  
**Gladio, 6:39 pm** : _Don't go back in there._  
**Noctis, 6:39 pm** : _Well duh._

Noctis hoped that Gladio could feel his eyeroll through his text, but he also rolled his eyes in reality for good measure.

 **Noctis, 6:40 pm** : _...I think he's helping Specs cook._

He twisted around in his seat, his heart practically seizing up in his chest to see exactly that. Another terribly dark, grainy, and cut off picture of Ignis chopping and Prompto stirring was taken and then dropped into the conversation.

 **Noctis, 6:41 pm** : _Shiva's tits. He really is helping him cook. Help me Gladio. You're my only hope._

He had to wait two whole agonizing minutes before Gladio's next reply came through.

 **Gladio, 6:43 pm** : _If they start making out on the counter top, I'll come get you._  
**Noctis, 6:44 pm** : _SERIOUSLY?!_

Ugh, no, gross, gross, gross. He didn't even want to imagine that. He didn't want to imagine how Prompto had probably had a crush on Ignis all this time, and how much more that probably made the verbal rejections hurt. He didn't want to imagine how Ignis could have ended his hanahaki without the surgery. How happy they could probably be right now--

Wait.

 **Noctis, 6:48 pm** : _Can you get hanahaki twice? For the same person?_  
**Gladio, 6:49 pm** : _Fuck, I hope not._

That wasn't a no. That was an "I don't know." Dammit.

 **Noctis, 6:49 pm** : _Distract me. I don't want to be thinking about this._

Gladio did. In his own way, Gladio could drone on and on well enough to be as dry and boring as Ignis talking about his latest physics lesson. He didn't look it, but where Ignis was math, science, and political smarts, Gladio was head over heels for history. (Not to say that Ignis didn't enjoy history too, he did, the freak, but there was Ignis knowing _everything_ , and then there was Gladio knowing this.) Not including his secret stash of romance novels, Gladio's personal library was at least half historical fiction, and he was all about sitting on the couch and watching those awful historical dramas with the lavish costuming and about three actual facts in them.

Of course this was what Gladio chose to talk about now, lengthy texts of the latest episode of his favorite drama that Prompto would probably wince to even see the title of. It was distracting, in its own mind numbing, yet very Gladio way, but all the same, Noctis was relieved when he heard the clinking of bowls from the other room. He quickly shot off an _"Ok they're done. Ttyl."_ and shut off his phone just as Ignis and Prompto reentered the room, clearly without making out on the counter tops as Gladio had suggested.

Thank the Astrals.

Then, despite the fire that ignited in his mouth moments later, the worst of the day was over. They had dinner and dessert, Ignis hovered for a couple hours, and they played until well after midnight. The rest of the weekend followed in relative peace. Prompto came and went between games and studying, and Ignis came and went between his own game of catch up and making sure they ate and studied. Nothing major happened, though Noctis didn't miss the glances of quiet confusion from Ignis and he definitely didn't miss the gaze of longing Prompto gave to the door when Ignis left. Right. Prompto still didn't know, and it wasn't Noctis' place to tell. It left a sour feeling in his stomach, but he kept his mouth shut. It would fix itself in time, right? He hoped.

On Monday, Prompto was sick. That was a little odd. In their own way, he and Prompto had their own tradition about getting sick, and Prompto getting sick first definitely broke it, but it wasn't anything weird for this time of year. Almost everyone got sick around this time. At first, Noctis only thought that it was going to suck for Prompto to take all his exams while fighting off the remnants of a cold, but then it got worse. Because of Ignis, Noctis found himself hyper-aware of the cough that just seemed to get worse and worse. It worried him, and though he thought he was being silly at first, keeping an eye on Prompto and his cough paid off.

They fell from his pocket on Friday. They were so small that if Noctis hadn't been looking for it he might have simply laughed at Prompto for carrying glitter or confetti in his pockets. Instead, Noctis felt his heart freeze in his chest, and for that moment nothing else mattered to him but Prompto. The confrontation about the small flowers was quick, but not painless. With the admission that Prompto had hanahaki ringing in his mind, Noctis dragged Prompto out of the school.

He had a meeting to get to, Prompto tried to tell him. He knew. Noctis knew. Noctis even cared, underneath it all. Really. He cared about his princely duties almost as much as he cared about his friends, and that was a lot. The problem here was that the word was almost, and that meant Prompto nudged out that meeting no doubt about it. It really didn't help that he was specifically angry at Ignis, and not showing up to the car to go to the meeting would be a clear message.

He knew he was being irresponsible. He knew he should let go of Prompto's wrist and tell him he'd text him to come over afterward, that they could order pizza and talk then. He knew that was the right thing to do. Prompto wasn't going to drop dead here and now with stems sticking out of his throat. No, of course he wasn't. It could wait. It should wait. Prompto was right. He should go.

Prompto coughed, and all thought of doing the proper, responsible, princely thing vanished. Fuck it. He'd already said it aloud, but now he really meant it. Fuck it all.

He ran, dragging Prompto with him. Noctis ran, knowing Ignis was going to come for him. Let him come. He wasn't going easily.

They got surprisingly far before Ignis attempted first contact. It took nearly three rings for him to dig his phone out of his pocket with one hand, but when he did the call was promptly rejected. Not even a minute later Prompto's phone began to ring, and Noctis snatched it from his hand almost as quickly as it was nearly fumbled out. Reject call. Fuck you, Ignis. Come find us.

Prompto sputtered and mildly panicked, but Ignis didn't try to call again. Noctis knew that meant message received. It wouldn't take him too long. Noctis was aware that he had GPS on his phone, and he wasn't keen on turning it off to find a whole bunch of Crownsguard waiting for him. Just Ignis could come. It cut their time a little short, sure, but whatever. It'd be fine.

He wasn't really aware of where they were going himself until they were walking through the arcade doors. Ah shit, did he actually have cash to feed the coin machine? The answer was yes, though only a little. That was fine, he doubted they'd be here too long. "My treat," he told Prompto in his "princely" tone that said don't argue. For a moment, he saw Prompto open his mouth anyway, "I mean it." His mouth snapped back shut. He knew, he understood. Prompto didn't want to be seen as a leech. He wasn't. Noctis already knew that, and besides, didn't normal friends treat each other anyway? What was a few yen between them? It wasn't a fucking car.

He let Prompto pick the first game too, and before long he was settling into a faux car seat. This was okay, he didn't really have to focus on this to talk. "You've got to tell him."

"Him?"

"Yeah. Him."

"Noct, buddy, I don't know if you've ever noticed, but I don't talk about _hims_."

"No, but I watch you watch them. I see you smile and blush. I'm not totally stupid. You talk about hers and you smile at hims." Driving in a game was so much different than driving in real life. Noct was pretty sure he liked the game better. The game didn't yell at you when you went too fast. The game also didn't actually have a brake pedal you had to worry about mixing up with the gas pedal.

"And that's okay?"

"Yeah?" He made the mistake of looking up for a moment and a huge kaboom that actually vibrated the steering wheel emanated from the screen. No brake pedal, but crashing was still a no-no. Losing the game meant nothing though, not when his best friend wasn't even looking at him. Not when his best friend was looking at the ground like he'd done something terrible, biting his lip. "I don't care. You met Ventus. He's Specs' Uncle, but he's practically mine too. I don't care."

"It's...different, liking both."

"No?" Just. No. It wasn't. How else could he say it? It wasn't different. It just was. He stood up. "Your turn."

He watched Prompto slink into the seat like he was going to collapse right there. "So."

"So?"

"So you know it's a guy. Do you...?" Prompto made a sort of gesture with his hand that meant nothing, yet Noctis nodded his head in understanding.

"Know who it is? Yeah. I know." He frowned. Prompto hadn't even put his coin in yet. He was just staring at him. "Don't look like that! I'm not gonna tell him! That's your job. Seriously. You gotta."

"...I know." Phew. Well. That was one major worry out of the way. He couldn't do this again. He hadn't even known Ignis had hanahaki until it was in its final stages, and it had all been too much for him. Prompto's was just beginning. If he confessed and got it resolved...well, at least the suffering would be short for everyone involved. "I'm gonna tell him. I. Just. Haven't worked myself up to it yet."

" 'Kay." Prompto finally slid his coin into the slot. He didn't really last that much longer than Noctis had, and then they moved onto the next game. Prompto had only just started shooting down little alien ships when Ignis caught up with them. He'd expected them to have a little bit longer than that, and there was definitely that instinct to run. He even spared a couple of seconds to look around and see if there were any exits they could escape through, but no. No, that would result in more trouble than he was willing to deal with, and he was already in a lot of trouble.

Beside him, Prompto winced when he heard Ignis use his full name. Definitely big trouble, but Noctis was also already willing to dig in his heels. He did so very much hate it when Ignis used his whole freaking name. It was even worse than "Highness," and he wasn't really happy with that one either, except at least with Highness he knew it was necessary. Sometimes. Not every time Ignis called him that, but sometimes.

Noctis set his lips in a line and settled inside himself to weather a long lecture...that didn't come. Not that Ignis hadn't been going to give him a long lecture, but that the lecture was cut off before it could even begin. ...Didn't they go to his school? They weren't in their uniforms anymore, but Noctis was almost sure he recognized those faces. Underclassmen. Ignis would call them hooligans. Noctis was pretty sure he agreed.

He was used to the badgering by now. It had been worse before Prompto had been in his life. Worse because he'd been more aloof. At least now, with his own classmates, he was friendly-ish. With Prompto by his side, it was easier to be himself with them, to not hold back and hold himself separate. Prompto was a bridge between them. Even now, not everyone understood though. They didn't understand that he wasn't at school to be a prince. He also wasn't at the arcade to be a prince. He just wanted to be Noctis- _Noct_ , at least during those moments.

Normally, at school, it was Prompto who stepped in for him. Today it was Ignis. He was pissed, but he kept his words calm, only to have them thrown back at him.

"Hey, yer Highness. Your butler gonna beat me up?"

Noctis almost laughed. Oh. There was a sore point. No one called Ignis his butler and got away with it. If Ignis didn't make them pay for that, Noctis would himself. "If he has to, yeah."

He didn't actually think it would come to blows, but then it did. He'd expected Ignis to cut them with words, like he always did with anyone ever, and for the bullies to run away with their tails between their legs. Because what did they really think was gonna happen? The Lucis Caelums were known for three things: Being Royalty, being warriors, and being magic. If they attacked, it wouldn't be good for them on any of those levels. Surely they could see that? But then Ignis made them really angry, because Ignis himself was already really angry, and Ignis was punched. These assholes had touched his friend. That was bad enough, but when they willfully crushed his glasses like this was some stupid cliche movie based on a YA book, Noctis found his blood boiling.

No. Really. It felt like his blood was boiling, threatening to boil up and through his very skin. How dare they. How dare they touch Ignis. He was going to make them pay. It took all his self control to not rip into them right then. It took all his self control to turn to Ignis instead, to pull him up to his feet and make sure he was okay first. He was okay. Their eyes met, and Noctis knew Ignis was going to be okay. Ignis then looked beyond him and then even more beyond him to the thugs, the bullies, the ones who were going to pay for this.

A hand pulled at his shoulder, and his blood chilled a little. Prompto was pulling him back, away from the fight that was definitely going to happen now. Ignis was already retorting, already pulling daggers from the armiger. "Don't," Prompto whispered in his ear, and somehow that was enough for Noctis. Ignis could trounce these assholes, but Prompto needed Noctis to not help him do it.

"Trounce" was a pretty heavy word on its own, but by comparison it was a very light word for what Ignis actually did. One of them was legitimately down in two seconds, his body moving in time to the arcade's own rhythm of off beat music like it was a dance. The hands on his arm tightened, and he could feel it shaking. Yeah. Noctis had to admit, he'd seen Ignis in practice, but this was a whole different thing. This was not light sparring back and forth with a trusted comrade. This was Ignis absolutely annihilating his opponents without them so much as getting a hit in.

"Noct," Prompto's horrified voice whispered in his ear. "He's going to kill them."

For a second, Noctis thought Prompto might be right. He was hitting hard with those practice blades, harder than he should. The force of it could really cause some damage, even lethal damage, and Ignis didn't seem interested in stopping so long as they kept coming at him, and they did, the stupid idiots. Noctis wasn't actually sure that if he yelled Ignis would hear him and stop. Luckily, he didn't have to. A blow caught one of them full on in the nose, and suddenly there was blood _everywhere_ it seemed.

It somehow satisfied Ignis' bloodlust, and Ignis pulled back his chest heaving. "Go." The first smart thing those bullies did was run for the door, the one holding his nose even as it dripped blood between his fingers. Soft blue light flashed before his eyes as the blunted daggers were sent away, and then his vision was filled with a ruffled, bloodied, glasses-less, and furious Ignis. "Get. In. The. Car."

Yeah. Okay. Noctis thought as he pulled away from the painfully tight grip Prompto had on his arm. He was done arguing with Ignis for the day. Nope. Definitely not poking the coeurl anymore. Going. Going now!

"You too, Prompto!"

That painful grip returned to his arm, but Nocits couldn't even blame him. It hadn't lasted long, but fuck it had been terrifying.


	9. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday!
> 
> Warning! This chapter is probably the lowest point of the entire story, so brace yourself for more angst than usual.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

Prompto had never seen Ignis fight. Truth be told, he'd never actually seen any of them fight, but at least he'd seen Noct apply himself in gym and Gladio just sort of naturally looked like a fighter. Ignis was lean, sure, but Ignis also wore suits on a daily basis, and drank coffee, leaned over folders, and cooked. While Noctis looked and acted like a scrappy little fighter and Gladio looked like he'd been born to rip people in two, there was nothing about Ignis that actually said fighter. That maybe made the shock of it all the worse.

It was now pretty obvious that "lean" didn't even begin to describe what Ignis hid beneath his button ups. Watching him twist and slide while he absolutely destroyed the thugs was terrifying, yeah. Totally. Absolutely. Freaking. Terrifying. It was also beautiful and graceful and hot in a way Prompto really didn't want to think about now or while he lay in bed later. In the end, Prompto focused on his hands, how the (play?) weapons he held struck out and caused hurt and damage.

There was about a whole minute there where Prompto was sure that he'd actually kill them, and he didn't know what to do. Then there was blood. The blood seemed to snap Ignis out of whatever zone he'd worked himself into, and he sent them away. Prompto silently thanked the gods that this time they'd listened to his prayer. Today Ignis wasn't a murderer.

"Get. In. The. Car."

Noctis too, moved to obey and pulled away from the grasp Prompto had only been half aware he'd had on his friend. There was a part of him that wanted to cry. No, don't. Don't go. I'm going to fall apart. There was another part of him that felt like he couldn't move at all, or even breathe. He'd- he'd be okay though. He just needed to stand here and wait for them to go, wait for his heart to stop speeding, wait --

"You too, Prompto!"

Prompto yelped, actually yelped like he'd been kicked, and moved forward so quickly that it really felt like Ignis had physically pushed him. His shaking hands found Noct's arm again and he held on as though Noctis was the only thing keeping him alive. Prompto wasn't sure he wasn't.

Except for the hum of the car engine, the ride was completely silent. He wasn't sure where he'd been expecting them to go, but when they pulled into parking garage at Noct's apartment building, it caught him by surprise.

"Go up to your apartment. I will join you shortly." His voice was curt and calm, but neither of them said anything as they got out of the car and moved over to the stairs. Calm might be a good word for him now, but there was no forgetting the terrifying figure he'd been not even fifteen minutes ago. The walk up to Noct's apartment seemed to take longer than usual, and a pit of dread formed in the bottom of his belly knowing that something bad was probably waiting for them just beyond Noct's front door.

It was Gladio.

He was still sliding his shoes off his feet when Gladio appeared from the living room his arms folded over his chest. "You are in so much trouble."

"I know," Noct grumbled, tossing his schoolbag off in some random direction to be picked up later.

"What were you thinking?! And you!" Gladio turned to him. "I know you sometimes encourage him, but this?! This is too far!"

"Hey! Not his fault! Back off!" There was a glaring match between Gladio and Noct, and Prompto seriously considered turning tail and just running all the way home despite what that would probably do to his lungs at this point. "He told me to go! Like ten times! I just didn't listen! Okay?!"

"Why?!"

"Because--" Noct huffed. His hands pushed through his hair. His very being radiated frustration. He looked back to Prompto, and Prompto couldn't help but fidget. Yeah. He knew. He hadn't been able to keep it from Noct, so there was no point in trying to keep it from the others either, especially not when not saying it might get him in more trouble.

"It's okay. I'll say it." Prompto sighed. He leaned back a bit, or rather fell back a bit, against the wall. He couldn't look at them while he said it. That was asking too much. He let his gaze drift up to the ceiling, boring and white as it was. "Noct found out I have hanahaki. That's...why."

"Well shit." An eternity of silence followed Gladio's words before he finally added. "Where's Iggy?"

"Upstairs. Probably changing his shirt."

"...Do I dare ask why?"

"He got blood on it."

Gladio's colorful swearing filled all of the space around them. "What the fuck happened, Noctis? Whole story, from the top."

They made their way over to the couch as Noct began to speak. He told the story slowly, starting from the moment the bell had rung at the end of the school day all the way to the moment they'd hustled out of the car with Ignis behind them on up to his apartment. It was kind of weird, listening to Noct tell the events from his own point of view, not that it was much of a different story, but more that he'd caught different details. Like he said that Ignis hadn't really lost it, but more that he'd gone to such an extreme probably to stop Noctis from taking them out himself. Like how he was so angry that he had forgotten it was winter and thus cold out. Things like that were things Prompto would have never noticed, would have never thought to say. The worst part of it was that he spoke like the 'prince' - like he'd been trained to speak since he was a child. Not his friend. Not the person he knew.

It a way, it reminded him that soon they would graduate. The 'prince' would probably leave him behind after that. He'd be a relic of an adolescence better off forgotten.

He coughed.

"Did you...?"

Prompto shook his head. "No flowers this time."

"Okay." Noctis heaved a sigh so great that his shoulders moved with it. "And I guess that's it. It's not gonna be seen as an excuse, but that's what happened. I'm prepared to deal."

"You know, if your dad doesn't kill you, Iggy's gonna. He hates his spare glasses." All the earlier anger and fire was gone from Gladio tone and stance as he sat himself down on the couch next to Noct. "Is he hurt? Really?"

"I don't think so?" Noctis shrugged. "Punk didn't know how to actually throw a punch. It was more the shock and the gall of it that got me."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

"I guess. He was really--"

"Really what?"

"Scary. Wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Prompto whispered. "It wasn't aimed at me, but I was afraid for my life." Or at least that was what it had sort of felt like. Ignis had been going to kill those guys, and then he'd turn on him. He wouldn't turn on Noct. Not Noct. Never Noct. Noct was his charge, but...Ignis wasn't bound to him. He was definitely expendable. It was part of what made his feelings all the more foolish. He coughed again, but his hand was still flower free.

Gladio actually laughed, or maybe it was more of a chuckle, but still a sound Prompto thought was wholly inappropriate for the story and feelings Noctis had just conveyed. "You've never seen him get _really_ angry then. He gets scary when he's angry. You just gotta let him simmer down a bit. It'll be okay."

"There was nothing about that whole thing that was 'okay,' Gladio."

Gladio shrugged in a way that might have been infuriating if Prompto hadn't just felt so...lost with this whole thing. "No big deal, the only real casualty were his glasses, and now you know not to push him too far."

"I didn't know I was!" Noct huffed in frustration, head falling back against the couch. "I guess you'd better go check in though. They're probably waiting."

"Yeah. I should." Gladio lingered for a couple more minutes before he got up and left the apartment, phone in his hand. He returned not too long after that, Ignis in tow, and Prompto suddenly knew why Gladio said that Ignis would kill Noct over the spare glasses. They were in frames several years out of style, thick, square, and they hid half of his face. They were nothing like the thin, sleek ones that had been crushed. It was more than that, though. It was clear that Ignis had stopped to take a quick shower, probably after finding he had some blood in his hair or something. That meant said hair hadn't had the time to properly dry yet, and certainly hadn't been styled. The hair alone portrayed a sort of homey look that made Prompt squirm in his own skin. Most people saw damp hair as a faux pax. Other people weren't meant to see you not all done up, and Ignis had always been the sort of personification of that ideal. Always done, always perfect. Seeing him not...perfected...well. It did _things_ to him, and though Ignis might hate the glasses, for Prompto they only added to the look.

It was hard for Prompto to keep still as he watched Gladio wander off into the kitchen (a bad move if you asked him), and Ignis paused in the living room, his eyes anything but friendly. At first, Ignis said nothing, his lips set in a line so thin that Prompto couldn't even tell he actually had lips.

He wanted to disappear on so many levels. He so very much wished he could.

"Your father will talk to you in the morning, Highness. In the meantime, I will make dinner, and you might as well start studying while you wait."

Prompto coughed the entire time. Probably because Ignis was in the next room and he could smell the cooking. They said it got worse the more you thought about the subject of your hana, and, well, this entire afternoon was filled with Ignis and dread. It was terrible. Three small flowers came up between Ignis' arrival and dinner being served, and Prompto didn't try to hide them. What was the point? Noctis knew. Gladio knew. Even if he didn't tell Ignis the flowers were for him yet, Ignis should know he had it.

"Your cough is getting worse. Would you like some tea to soothe your throat?" The words accompanied the soft clack of a plate being sat on the table for him. Prompto didn't know what the dish was, but it didn't matter. It smelled wonderful, because of course it did, but truth be told Prompto wasn't hungry. Instead his mouth was dry, and words didn't come easily.

"Thanks, but...I don't think it's gonna help, Iggy."

"No?"

Prompto tapped the piece of paper he'd been placing the wet buds on. "Tea can't make it go away."

"Ah." He wanted to look up at Ignis' face, to see how he was reacting, but he couldn't even look up from the glass top of the table, let alone meet his eyes. Coward. He was such a coward. "I see."

The rest of the evening went by the same sort of silence that the car ride here had. Eventually the silence was overwhelming, and Prompto left to go home. The silence was overwhelming there, too.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Prompto didn't have much time to think about Ignis for a few days after that. Exams started on Monday and the rest of the weekend was spent frantically cramming as much as he could. He didn't go over to Noct's, and in fact only texted him back and forth about this question or that question. All weekend he only coughed up fifteen small blooms, each one just a soft reminder that there was someone he needed to confess to. There was a rejection he needed to hear so he could move on.

When Monday came and exams actually started breathing seemed to become hard for Prompto on a whole other level. They weren't quite the last set of exams he'd ever take, but they were still crucial for the path his life could take in the future. He needed to do well to have any hope of being accepted into decent further schooling, his chances were slim enough as it was. The final exams in spring would hold the most weight, as well as entrance exams at any school he applied for, but it wouldn't even matter if he didn't show aptitude here too.

He barely ate or slept. The cough in his throat and goldenrod in his lungs were almost forgotten in the wake of constant panic about each upcoming exam, and the knowledge that even when it was finished the stress wouldn't be over. Holiday break started after the last bell on Friday, and then he had a whole week to worry about the results. Most people could forget or push off the stress, but then most people would also be busy celebrating the holiday.

"You're coming over tonight right?"

"Definitely." He actually wanted to say no. There was a whole world of other stress at Noct's apartment just waiting for him, but he knew that he'd put his confession off long enough. That aside, saying that he wanted to skip out on game night so he could go home, curl into a ball, and be a little clump of panic wasn't going to go over well with Noctis.

"Great." The smile Noctis gave him was almost worth the nest of snakes that seemed to slither in his stomach. "Maybe I can convince Specs to order pizza tonight."

"That'd be nice." Yeah, nice, not having to think about the food Ignis was making or eating said food would be good. Right? Pizza was a neutral party.

"I'll ask." Out came Noct's phone, and Prompto shook his head, smiling.

"He's gonna scold you for texting him while you're at school."

"It's lunchtime. Not like I'm doing it in class."

He got scolded anyway, but Noct said Ignis would consider pizza. Prompto was half convinced that meant he was going to consider _making_ pizza, because that was just a very Ignis response.

As it turned out, he was right. On the car ride back to Noct's apartment, Ignis told them that the pizza dough was already rising. Apparently pizza had been last Friday's plan as a treat after the long meeting Noct had been supposed to attend. Instead it would be made now, as a sort of celebration for finishing their exams. Prompto didn't feel like he deserved a reward, not when he'd likely failed half his tests.

They'd barely settled in on the couch to start their usual night of gaming when Prompto promptly put down his controller and began to get up. "What's up?"

"I'm just gonna go talk to Iggy for a couple minutes, okay?"

"Okay." It was a blessing that Noct didn't ask why or start to get up, too. Instead he just switched games to a solo one and opened up his save file. It wasn't a game Prompto recognized. Maybe a puzzle game? He knew Noctis sometimes played those when everything was just...too much for him. Prompto could sympathize with that right now.

He padded off to the kitchen, terrified for two reasons. The first was simply that he was invading Ignis' space while he was probably just getting into his groove. The other. Well. He hadn't exactly come in here to ask about the weather. Despite the terror, a very "now or never" feeling had settled in his stomach. He had the resolve to tell Ignis _right now_. He had the resolve to face the inevitable rejection _right now_. If he didn't tell him _right now_ , the resolve would probably never come back.

"Hey, Iggy?"

"Yes, Prompto?" Ignis turned away from the stove with those words. His face was wearing the expression that Prompto had sort of gotten used to over the last couple of weeks. It was that expression that said Ignis didn't quite know what to do with him. That "something separate" look that made Prompto feel even more like an outsider than he already did. It was an expression quickly covered up, but it always echoed of that thing he'd been called that first day after his surgery - a stranger.

...a stranger.

Prompto gasped softly as all the pieces fell together in his mind. Of _course_. How could he have missed it all this time? Ignis had been sick. Coughing. He'd coughed a lot, and then, all rather suddenly, he'd been hospitalized and needed surgery. Even Noctis had said he'd had something removed from his lungs. After that, Ignis had been "angry" at him, calling them strangers, treating him coldly. It hadn't been long after that that this look had settled in. Even little things after that made sense, like not remembering quite how to make the green curry and why he'd needed help, were now clear to him.

For so long it hadn't made sense to him as a whole, but now, all at once, he realized the truth. Ignis had been sick with hanahaki. Ignis had been pining for him. As though that wasn't enough the facts that followed were even worse. Ignis had never talked to him about it. He'd never told him. He'd definitely remember if he had. He'd never even bothered to try. Instead of confessing, Ignis had chosen to throw Prompto away. That had been the better option. Of course it had been. How inconvenient feelings for someone like him must have been.

"Prompto? Are you all right?"

No! He wanted to scream. No he wasn't all right! He was never going to be all right again! How could he be okay when he'd finally figured out something everyone else probably already knew?! How could he be all right when the person he had hanahaki for had also grown flowers for him and had decided forgetting him completely was just...better?

To make things even _better_ he coughed, and it wouldn't stop. He coughed and coughed until it felt like glass shards were raking along his throat. He coughed until hands placed themselves on his shoulders. He coughed until, finally, the thing in his throat came out into his hands. When he looked it wasn't one small flower anymore; instead it was a cluster of five. He was officially getting worse.

It would have been so easy to confess at that point. It would have been so easy to just look up at Ignis and say _'These are for you.'_ Just four words, that would be all that was needed. How could he? He couldn't. Not anymore. How could he have ever thought to confess? It wasn't as though he'd ever thought Ignis would return his feelings. He'd known it would be rejection all along, but he'd faced that before, moved on from it before. How could he possibly move on from it when he knew his feelings _had_ once been returned? How could he move on when he knew those feelings had been so despised that they had been thrown away like trash? No. Not just the feelings. Everything about him. Ignis had thrown away everything about Prompto. He'd probably been relieved to have it gone.

What a fool he'd been to think there would ever be closure here. What a fool he'd been to think he could ever get better.

"Why don't you come sit? I'll get you a glass of water."

"No." The word came out as shredded and raw as his throat felt. He pulled away from the hands at his shoulders. He didn't want this. This fake sympathy Ignis had to be giving him just because he was Noct's friend. Just because he felt like he _had_ to. "I'm okay."

"You clearly are not."

"Prom?" Prompto was thankful for how Noct's voice cut like a knife between them. It actually seemed to physically separate them. Ignis took a healthy step backward and Prompto took two. His legs wanted to run. They wanted to run out the door and never stop. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Lie. Lie. Lie. "Yeah. I'm okay, I'm just gonna go stick my head in the sink for a minute." He rushed past Noct and off toward the bathroom.

"What did you do?!" He heard Noctis hiss at Ignis.

"Nothing - I swear it!"

He all but slammed the door behind him before he sunk to the ground. He was shaking from head to toe, and it had very little to do with the pain in his throat and the coughing. Was he okay? How was he supposed to be okay? What aspect of his life was okay right now? He was going to spend yet another Crystallo Nox alone. His exams wouldn't be posted until the new year, and he was positive he'd failed at least half of them. He had a pining disease that was slowly killing him, and the only chance he'd had at recovering from it was gone - no. The reality was that it had never really been there at all.

Most of the time Prompto tried to tell himself it could be worse. He could have never found Tiny. He could have never been motivated to get himself healthier and lose that excess weight. His parents could forget to pay the rent. He could be homeless. He could be so bad at school that he'd already flunked out. He could have a terrible boss at work. He could be working three jobs to pay the bills instead of the one for pocket change. The list of how his life could be worse normally went on and on, but now . . . right now there was no worse than this.

Hanahaki only had three results. The first was confess, resolve the feelings, move on. He couldn't, because there was no way he could come to terms with what he now knew. He didn't think he could ever get over it. It was one thing when the rejection had been just because Ignis wouldn't like him like that. It was a whole other behemoth to imagine how Ignis had liked him - a lot apparently. And it was a whole other thing to know that Ignis thought getting his chest sliced open was preferable to liking Prompto. How could he come to terms with that? How could he just resolve that Ignis would rather forget he'd ever existed than like him? He couldn't, and there was no time or distance that would make that easier.

The second option was to get the surgery that Ignis had gotten. That wasn't an option for Prompto, either, simply because he couldn't afford it. He had insurance. He went to the doctor's when it was necessary, got proper medication, and so on. This wasn't like that. This was a major surgery. It would require a specialist. It would cost hundreds of thousands - maybe even millions of yen. His parents couldn't afford that - most people couldn't. That was why most people confessed. Even in rejection, at least a confession was free of charge.

The third--

Prompto nearly jumped out of his skin as someone pounded on the door. "Hey! You okay in there?!" Noct's muffled voice drifted through.

"Fine! I'm fine!" Prompto scrambled to his feet and turned on the faucet.

Silence followed for a moment, and then Noctis softly added. "Specs is making you tea. It'll probably be ready when you come out."

"Okay!"

The sink was too small for him to actually stick his head under it, but he did scrub the tears he hadn't realized he'd been crying before he dried his face with a towel and forced the smile all the way back on. Back out in the living room, Ignis was waiting for him with a steaming mug of tea. The very sight of him hurt like he'd been stabbed. He didn't let his smile falter.

The third and only option left to Prompto was death. The flowers would overtake his lungs and he would eventually suffocate. It was said to be an extremely unpleasant way to go, and yet as he reached out to take the mug from Ignis' hands with a soft thanks on his lips, Prompto was pretty sure he was okay with that. Dying would be better than feeling like this and knowing it would never go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's Comment After Last Chapter: Omg you guys, just use your words!  
> Prompto: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	10. Ignis

Ignis felt raw. The fight had been over quickly enough, but it had been anything but satisfying. Truth be told, it had left him feeling rather worse for wear when he hadn’t been feeling particularly well to begin with, but there was no purpose in dwelling. Chest still heaving, he ordered the boys to the car. The drive back to the prince’s apartment seemed endless. The atmosphere was tense with only the sounds of the traffic around them and his leather gloves clenched tight around the steering wheel breaking the silence. The two younger boys all but cowered in the back seat, tense and blessedly quiet. He didn’t think he could take any further nonsense quite so soon.

They arrived at the apartments sooner than it felt, and with a few choice words, he sent the boys up ahead of him. He gave himself only a moment in the car, prying his hands from the wheel and taking a few long, slow breaths to steady himself. His breath stuttered more than once – ridiculous, but a clear indication that the ban on his returning to training was completely justified yet. He’d been fully out of commission so briefly, but the recovery period, it seemed, would be quite a bit longer. Certainly longer than he might have wished, though he could only hope the unplanned excursion did not set him back. But then, it was no surprise he felt out of shape, just then. He’d had a serious operation. Even with the liberal application of curatives, he knew he must give his body time to recover. He must accept that and adhere to his limitations or risk their permanence.

Of course, that required that a certain someone behaved himself for more than five minutes at a time. Such a disappointment. He’d been doing so well. Perhaps next time, the prince’s shield could fetch him in his stead. It likely would not have escalated to such an extent had the shield been present. Bullies tended to think twice with Gladio present. Perhaps that would have been simpler.

Ignis sighed, then stepped from the car, locking It behind him before heading inside. At the very least, he needed to change, perhaps put his shirt in to soak, if he ever hoped to get the bloodstains out. Of course, he still needed to prepare His Highness’s supper, though he daresay his original plan of homemade pizza was firmly out of the question. It had been meant to be a reward, after all, and His Highness had certainly not earned one, to say the least. Something with abundant vegetables would be an excellent choice. Perhaps an all vegetarian meal. Beans had protein, after all.

Or perhaps something simpler, just desserts aside. Something quick, yet balanced and filling. He’d been grocery shopping recently enough. There were options.

He made his way up to his apartment, trusting at the very least that the boys had gone to the prince’s ahead of him, if only due to their own sense of self-preservation. They weren’t complete fools, after all, despite their efforts to convince him otherwise. Given that Gladio was most likely waiting for them within, he could safely assume they wouldn’t be sneaking off in the short time it took for him to clean up. And if they had even a grain of sense remaining, they would be doing something productive – studying for their coming exams, perhaps? – when he arrived.

Despite his lingering malaise, he took the stairs two at a time, jittery and eager to change and not quite willing to risk an awkward elevator ride should he run into anyone on his way. By the time he reached his apartment door, he was breathing heavily again, though he paused not even a moment before he ducked inside, leaning only briefly against the closed inner door before turning his attention to the task at hand. Astrals, he was exhausted emotionally as much as physically. Regardless of having the situation well in hand and being angry with the prince besides, it was nerve wracking to witness the prince – his friend – near any kind of danger. And to be perfectly precise, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was well aware it could have been a lot worse than it had been.

Not that those absolute fools had any kind of chance against either one of them, but gods, that moment when he’d looked back and seen the prince’s eyes. He knew perfectly well the significance of the way they’d flashed pink for just a moment, glowed just so at the corners. If the prince had lost control of his magic. . .

Well, then. It wouldn’t just be him scraping blood out from under his fingernails. And Noctis. . .he was still so very young, in more than one sense of the word.  Far too young to know what it felt like to kill, regardless of whether or not it would have been deliberate.

He took a deep breath, shoving the thought aside and pushing forward. Onward. No time for rest just yet. Keep with the forward momentum, and he would get there soon enough.

He filled his bathroom sink with water, stripping quickly and leaving his shirt to soak. A minute more and he was under the hot spray of the shower – might as well, as when he’d looked in the mirror there had been flecks of blood on his face, in his hair. . . regardless of the quantity, it would be all he could smell until he had been scoured clean. He couldn’t wash away the bruise from where that ruffian had struck him, and the hot water wouldn't exactly be beneficial for the swelling, but he damn well could wash away everything else. And he could do so quickly enough, scrubbing himself down with absolute efficiency with the water turned as hot as he could stand. Hotter, if he was being honest. It was quite unbearable, but over soon enough. Squeaky clean, he turned off the spray, stepped from the shower and rubbed himself dry, dressing quickly with the inclusion a well-loved lilac shirt - the fabric didn’t iron as well as it once did, but it was worn soft, a small comfort without truly sacrificing form. He buttoned it up over his undershirt, cuffs straightened just so, before returning to the bathroom to attend to his hair. He didn’t have the time to style it properly – he’d already taken too long as it is. He’d just have to comb it and leave it to dry fluffy. No matter. He hadn’t a chance in appearing his usual precise, composed self, regardless. Not when he reduced to wearing. . . those.

Ignis truly loathed his back up glasses, though he kept them easily accessible in his bathroom cabinet should he need them. He was not pleased to retrieve them, wiping them down with glasses cleaner before sliding them on. A glutton for punishment, he wiped the last of the steam from his bathroom mirror, scowling at his reflection. No one would take him seriously with these on. But alas, it couldn’t be helped. They were what he had now, and he’d simply have to live with the consequences, at least until he could call in and receive a replacement pair. Giving one last huff, he exited the bathroom – he needed only his shoes now, though given he was simply moving to another floor, realistically his house slippers would be sufficient, considering his loafers would only be removed the moment he stepped into the prince’s apartment. Now, where had he left –

He startled badly at the sight of a figure sitting on the loveseat near the scarcely used entertainment center, though he immediately recognized said person as the prince’s shield. One hand came to up rest over his rapidly beating heart, expression turning to a disapproving frown. Of course, Gladio had a key to his place – in case of emergencies, which this certainly was not. And shouldn’t he be downstairs still? Ignis hardly thought this was a time to leave the younger boys to their own devices.

“Hey, Iggy.” The man’s voice was soft, gentle in a way many people did not associate with the large man, at least without having seen him around his younger sister. But he got that way, too, with his friends sometimes. Ignis had seen it on more than one occasion, though usually it was after some close call or mishap in the training room. The corner of his mouth curved up in a little smirk, and the shield actually gave a little chuckle, clearly amused by what, in Ignis’s own opinion, was not even remotely entertaining. “Those actually aren’t as bad as I remembered.” Yes, clearly. After all, he was laughing. But as Ignis stepped closer, the momentary joviality faded, brows drawing together in an expression of concern. The larger man reached out, then hesitated, correctly guessing that Ignis was in no mood to be pawed at. “You okay there, Iggy? You’re lookin’ pretty pale.”

“I’m perfectly fine, I assure you.” His tone was brisk, clipped, a direct contradiction to the calm façade he preferred to embody. But he did perfectly well have everything under control, thank you ever so much. Certainly well enough to cook the prince dinner. He surely didn’t just want to go lay down and call it quits for the day, and there had not been a moment, under the hot shower spray, when he’d be quite sure he was going to vomit. Absolutely not.

Without further comment, he retrieved his house slippers and tucked them onto his feet, pausing after to level a long look at the larger man. “I’m not sure why you thought it wise to leave those two unattended,” he commented mildly.

Gladio scoffed, casually rising to his feet and making his way over, clearly in no hurry to be on their way. “I think they can handle a few minutes by themselves after that.” He grinned, bumping his shoulder up against him in a deliberate gesture as he came to a stop by Ignis’s side. “Neither one of those brats are keen to piss you off right now.”

Ignis sighed. Lovely as it would be to experience well-behaved teenagers, he wasn’t sure it was worth the cost. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning as his friend moved again, then outright flinching when one meaty finger came to tap the bridge of his glasses.

“The glasses are cute,” the man declared cheerfully, outright laughing when Ignis’s face flushed red. He gave the larger man a shove out into the hallway, closing the door behind them and locking it before he realized what his friend was up to. If that had been meant to be a distraction, he had worked perfectly, if only for a moment or two. He. . .appreciated the gesture, truly, he did. But not much was liable to take his mind off the situation at hand for very long.

Noctis and Prompto were hunched over the living room coffee table when they arrived back at the prince's apartment, and by the time advisor and shield saw them, they were diligently working away at the papers in front of them. But Ignis hadn’t missed the shushing of voices, and he wasn’t so dense to not notice how oppressive the silence was. He merely leveled a long look at the younger boys, trusting it was sufficient to express on no uncertain terms that he was wasn't fooled in the slightest by their seeming diligence.

"Your father will talk to you in the morning, Highness. In the meantime, I will make dinner, and you might as well start studying while you wait."

Start. Because they both knew that honestly wasn’t what they were doing when he’d arrived. He would assist later, if needed, but for the time being he was heading for the kitchen. He had supper to prepare, after all. A simple soup, mayhaps. Or perhaps a stir-fry. Something with an overabundance of vegetables still sounded so very appealing. . .

The routine of cooking for the prince was soothing, almost an having a zen-like effect on his tattered nerves, though he wasn’t preparing anything particularly complex. He pulled a single, deep skillet from the cabinet, turning the stove onto medium low and dropping a dollop of butter in to melt while he diced a single, large sweet onion. He dropped the onions chunks in, gave it a quick stir to coat them in butter, then lidded it and left it to cook while he prepared the remaining ingredients. Crimini mushrooms diced almost too small to pick out. Kelp noodles from the very back of the cabinet, rinsed and chopped to a more manageable size. Gladio grinned as he watched him, but otherwise remained (suspiciously) silent. He might have almost forgotten the other man was hovering nearby, if it were possible to forget a man of his size in one's immediate vicinity. He added both ingrediants to the pan, giving it another stir before lidding it once more and turning his attention to the meat. The chicken, which he’d intended to make a lovely, homemade alfredo pizza with that he was positive the prince would have devoured with enthusiasm.

Too bad. Now he got greens. Chicken and vegetables, though even in his current state, he was a little curious yet to see how quickly the notoriously finicky eater would catch on, if at all, when it came to the kelp noodles. In any case, if the prince was displeased with the change in meal plan, he had only himself to thank.

He quickly and efficiently deboned and cubed the chicken, again stirring and checking the progress of the rest of the meal before stirring the meat in. A little minced garlic – jarred rather than fresh, given the time – and he lidded it one last time, busying himself with clean up while he left the meal to simmer to completion.

Finally, he set the lid aside, leaving the meal simmering the excess liquid off even as he prepared plates for the younger two. He grated a little hard cheese on top, then brought the plates to the boys where they were still (at least pretending to be) working on homework. Noctis hastened to clear a space, and he set the plates down in front of them with a small frown. Focused on the meal as he had been, he hadn’t missed the coughing from the other room. The blond, it seemed, was getting worse rather than better. Perhaps it was time he sought the expertise of a medical professional.

“Your cough is getting worse.” An observation, nothing more. “Would you like some tea to soothe your throat?” Chamomile, perhaps. Or he’d find ginger tea enjoyable, no doubt.

"Thanks, but. . .” Ignis paused, brow raising in a question. “I don’t think it’s gonna help, Iggy.”

“No?” As though drawn, his gaze shifted to a nearby piece of paper even as the blond reached to tap it. Was that. . . ?

“Tea can’t make it go away.”

It was. A flower. Something small and bright and wet from being freshly coughed up. Not a flower Ignis recognized on sight, but why should he? It had nothing to do with him. Nothing beyond being, he presumed, the missing context he’d been looking for.

Of course. No one ever really wanted him, did they? At least not in that way. Perfectly understandable. Everything made sense now. He’d never acted on his feelings, clearly, because for the blond, there had already been someone else. Somebody who hadn’t returned his feelings, apparently, and now here they were. What fools they both were.

“Ah.” What else could he say? There was nothing he could do. There was no comfort in their shared experience. Prompto would have to move forward, just as he had, and take the consequences. He deserved better, naturally, but people so rarely got what they deserved. What did it matter. “I see,” he added, calm. Cool. Collected. Under different circumstances, his control might have been a point of pride. He retreated to the kitchen without further comment to finish the clean up, tucking what little leftovers were left following Gladio’s black pit of an appetite into the fridge with no real hope that Noctis would touch them – certainly not if he figured out that he’d only been picking out part of the vegetables. And then . . . he floundered a little, honestly. Did the boys need help with their studies? They claimed not, so there was no real need of him staying, beyond encouraging them to behave like the adults they nearly were – and Gladio was quick to volunteer staying in his stead, besides. It was insultingly easy to excuse himself, citing weariness and feeling most irritatingly guilty at the expression the prince made. Not that he apologized. That could wait for the morrow.

His weariness grew with each step back up to his apartment, but as he settled down for the evening, he found himself feeling far from restful. Now that he had the full picture. . . should it not have felt like closure? Shouldn’t the good sense of his decision absolve him? Why did he feel worse?

He changed into his pajamas, gingerly lying himself down on the bed and making some effort to get comfortable. He was exhausted, he truly was, but his mind just would not shut off. He had to stop. He had to let it rest. It didn’t matter what he’d felt – he’d given that up, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter if he was starting to feel something again. It was all absolute shit. And he had to let it go. He couldn’t change the past, even if there had been something to be done. Moving forward was all any of them could do.

 

* * *

 

Ignis was many things, and a fool was chief among them, at least when it came to a certain prince an his unerring ability to forget that one last thing at the most inconvenient of times. Though Ignis, as the prince’s chamberlain and future hand, was as a matter of course deeply involved in the arrangement of the year’s Crystallo Nox festivities, the prince himself always insisted he take the day itself off – much as his father the king insisted on the same for Ignis’s uncle. After all, he's reasoned, Gladio and Lord Clarus were “stuck” participating as in the public spectacle, and between the two of them, not to mention a sizable guard, they ought to be able to keep the royals safe. Noctis had been included in the ceremony for years; surely, by now, he could be trusted to behave himself. Or at least not get caught sleeping or texting through the opening hymn on live television again.

Regardless, Ignis appreciated the consideration, particularly given how often he was at the prince’s side during the holidays. But Crystallo Nox was about family, never mind the holiday’s actual origins, so while Ignis commonly spent the morning confirming those last few details, he then had the rest of the day off, joining his uncles for a rare dinner with all three present. Uncle Tellus spent the day in much the same manner, truth be told, and Uncle Ventus tended to go out all for the holiday, as he was always particularly pleased to have both men present for a meal. If Ignis also joined him in the kitchen, well. The day couldn’t possibly be better.

Yet, when the prince called him halfway through mashing the potatoes, he didn’t hesitate. Noctis needed him, and so he’d come. But he could hardly believe the request at hand – or that the prince had actually forgotten to give his best friend the Crystallo Nox present he’d spent weeks agonizing and obsessing over. (Was it too much for him to get both that lense and the limited edition chocobo print camera strap? Was Prom going to freak out over how much he’d spent? Was Ignis _absolutely sure_ he’d remembered to take the price stickers off before wrapping said present?) And yet, somehow, when the time had come to actually gift it, it had slipped the prince’s mind.

“I shan't be long,” he assured his uncle, slipping his loafers back on and pulling on his winter jacket with an apologetic smile. That wasn’t exactly true – he’d have to retrieve the gift from Noctis’s apartment, and the drive from there to Prompto’s home was a least half an hour each way, and that without even accounting for the weather. “Long” was. . . well, relative.

It took, in fact, 42 minutes on the nose to reach the Argentum residence – far better time than he’d been expecting, though much of that could be attributed to how well cleared the roads were, at least until the last ten minutes or so. He almost wiped out on the sidewalk on the way to the front door, but luckily no one was there to see it, as far as he knew, and more importantly, he did _not_ drop the present in catching himself. He carefully navigated the last few steps to the front door, smoothing his free hand over his jacket momentarily before ringing the doorbell. The night was quiet enough to hear the footsteps moments before the porch light came on, near-blinding after walking up the dark driveway. The door opened as Ignis was still squinting into the light, willing his eyes to adjust.

“Iggy?” The voice was soft. Uncertain. Rough, no doubt from all the coughing and. . . Ignis frowned. He did not enjoy watching the blond suffer.

“Good evening,” he managed, clearing his throat awkwardly. The corner of his lips lifted in a small smirk as he spoke, giving an impression more of amusement than inconvenience. Though it had been an inconvenience, of course. Merely one he didn’t resent too dearly. “His Highness was in such a clamor to enjoy the festivities, it seems he forgot to actually deliver gifts to his loved ones.” After a moment, he remembered to hold out the present, carefully wrapped and currently tucked into a paper bag. The gift in question. To his loved one. His friend. His best friend. Prompto. Prompto, who was dying, because one of _his_ loved ones did not reciprocate.

 _Astrals_ , that was insensitive.

“Uhhm.” For a moment, the awkward silence lingered, then the blond reached out to accept the package. Quite a bit more willingly than Ignis had expected, to be honest. “Do you. . . want to come in for tea?”

He was surprised by the offer. Not because the blond was rude or anything of the sort, but it was a family holiday. He would have expected his presence to be unwelcome and quickly disposed of in favour of the blond spending time with his family, particularly given his parents’ apparently frequent business trips. Though now that he thought of it, it was awfully quiet, wasn’t it? It was awfully dark within. Was. . .he here alone?

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze flickered to the entryway behind the blond. “That would be lovely, thank you.”


	11. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Apparently I (Charmkeeper) am never allowed to leave, die, or choose to sleep forever, because BossGoose has declared that if I did, she would turn into Scourge Grandpa.
> 
> That is all.
> 
> Happy Monday, and please enjoy this chapter! <333

Like most people Prompto knew, he had memories of Crystallo Nox going all the way back as far as he could remember. Also like most people, the quality of Prompto's memories shifted the older he got.

His earliest memories of the holiday were joy filled and almost stereotypical. He couldn't wait until proper morning to go down and open the gifts, and so he would wake his parents up at some gods awful hour. There were presents, and lights, and his parents drank a lot of coffee. The day was filled with a magic that only a child on Crystallo Nox experienced, with sweets, and toys, and more food than anyone had ever intended to sit on their dinner table. There was the scent of cinnamon and spice and a warmth that Prompto could no longer capture in real life.

Most children held onto the magic a little longer than Prompto, at least until double digits, but for him it had been lost the year his parents had decided to go back to work. He'd put up all the decorations himself, set out the presents his parents had sent him from Duscae that year. He'd even bothered to try and fix some sort of dinner, which, considering his cooking skills even back then, had been a disaster.

He'd tried his best, and his parents had given him a lengthy phone call the morning of, but the truth was that it had lacked the magic of...Crystallo Nox. The fact still was that a part of him had been hoping his parents would come home for the holiday, and there was something terribly hollow about opening presents and eating food alone.

Prompto remembered doing the same thing the year after. Decorating the same way and that quiet thrill of hope that he'd wake up the morning of and his parents would be there with their coffee and sweets. They hadn't, and the year after that Prompto hadn't even put the protection crystal up on the door. That had led to a very awkward conversation with a police officer, because apparently not putting the protection crystal on the door was considered street code for "I'm being abused by my S.O. and I need help" during the holidays. Whoops. He'd always put the protection crystal up after that, but for a long time, that had been the only decoration Prompto had put up.

Nowadays there was this fun thing called FaceTime, and so the grand total of Prompto's holiday decorations was the protection crystal for the door, lighting for the window behind the couch, and a festive to the point of gaudy blanket that actually went over the back of the couch. It was enough to fool his parents into thinking the whole house was lit up, and enough to keep the police was asking about any potential abuse from a girlfriend or boyfriend.

Despite the flowers in his lungs, this year was no different. He didn't wake up early, and in fact he only woke up to the chiming of a FaceTime request from his parents. After that he was running downstairs with a bright smile to open the gifts he'd gotten. It wasn't a lot, it never was, but the laughter on his lips about the hoodie with a chocobo print from an actual chocobo ranch was genuine, and he promised to use the Lestallum dried chilies in some hot chocolate before the end of the day.

They spent nearly an hour on the phone with each other before they hung up. His parents' goodbye was accompanied by a promise that they'd be home for a week in February. Prompto knew by now that actually meant three days in April, not that it mattered. February or April, he'd be long dead by then.

He threw away the ripped up wrapping paper before he went back to bed, feeling quite like Noctis as he slunk back under the covers. He didn't go out for his run simply because he couldn't anymore. The flowers were too progressed for that. Running led to coughing, coughing led to flowers in his hands. He might as well sleep now, while he still could, because soon enough even laying down would probably be too much for him. Soon enough he wouldn't even be able to sleep.

Best Crystallo Nox ever, he thought to himself even as he rolled his eyes at his own pathetic-ness.

He only managed to sleep for another hour before he was up again, coughing into his hands. When he was finished there was a cluster of three small flowers in his hand, and right now, that was the norm. Three or five tiny flowers that reminded him over and over again that he was dying. It should have been terrifying. The knowledge that these bright yellow things that were so small now would eventually obstruct his breathing to the point that he wouldn't even be able to get a single breath in and he'd die like that should have terrorized him. It probably would. Eventually. Right now though all he could do was look at those flowers and feel an acute stabbing pain where he was pretty sure his heart was.

Ignis had once loved him this much. Ignis had hated it. Prompto couldn't even blame him, but it still hurt.

He couldn't afford to spend his time lingering on Ignis, and so he threw the flowers away, just as Ignis had thrown him away (he had to stop thinking about him), and he moved on with his day.

There wasn't really much to do. He set his music player up for Crystallo Nox songs, and he did the dishes, swept, mopped, put away his gifts. The chilies he'd promised to use were set gently in a cabinet where he knew they'd remain long after he died. By mid-afternoon, he had finished all his housework, and so he showered, pulled on jeans and the chocobo hoodie before he threw his schoolbag on the couch.

It was almost time for the Crysallo Nox special thing. Every year, probably for as far back as there'd been television or even radio, the royal family did a holiday special. Sort of a glimpse inside the Citadel and their lives kind of thing. Noctis had always hated it, of course. Noctis was shier than anyone actually thought he was, and he really kind of hated his face being in pictures or on screen. Most people who watched it probably watched it with warmth and loyalty in their hearts.

When Prompto had been younger he'd watched it with a sort of longing. The Lucis-Caelums and the Amicitias all gathered around, smiling, opening presents, talking. It held that spark of magic that Prompto's life had been missing...still missed. Nowadays though, now that he knew Noctis better and wasn't afraid that Gladio was going to decide to rip him in two on sight, he watched it for the laughs it gave him. It was just hilarious, to watch Noctis force holiday cheer on his face and smile like he wouldn't totally rather be in bed right now, and even Gladio's smile seemed strained. The only people in the specials that Prompto thought might actually like it were two people he'd never met in person: Gladio's little sister Iris, who had a smile like the sun, and King Regis himself. Prompto suspected the king was just happy to get some downtime with his son.

Ignis was never in the specials. When he'd asked about it years ago now, Noctis had said that while the Scientias had loyally served the crown for generations, they just weren't as publicly well known as Amicitias. They weren't in front of the camera people. They were more like stage directors. Ignis apparently only helped with the preparations beforehand, but Noctis insisted that Ignis take the actual day of Crystallo Nox off. Prompto was pretty sure it was probably the only day of the year he really took off.

Previous years, Prompto had found not seeing his third friend on the screen a little sad. After all, the special was the only "contact" he got with them all day, but this year it would be a relief to not have to worry about seeing him there in some ridiculous matching sweater that would only make his heart ache more.

The clock said he had about fifteen minutes until it started. That was plenty of time to make himself dinner, but Prompto turned off the music and turned the television on anyway. The special always started with this really distinctive yet cheesy holiday jingle, so if he took too long, he'd hear the jingle before he actually missed anything.

Dinner wasn't going to be much. Prompto had given up on trying to cook anything more than a microwave dinner years ago. He mostly just made himself salads, when it came down to it. Healthy, quick, no chance of burning everything in a blaze of fire. Today wasn't going to be salads, though. Today was a holiday and so he was going to eat junk just like everyone else. ...Well. Okay. Maybe not everyone else would think bologna sandwiches was a holiday food, but he didn't eat it very much, and it was cheap, so it counted! And tea! He was going to have spiced tea! That was holiday-like, right?!

White bread, mustard, plastic cheese, and bologna. It was all he really needed. He'd make three or four of them before the special started, eat them, and then by the time it was over, he'd be ready to pass out. If he was lucky, he wouldn't wake up until the next morning. Then he could throw himself into the homework they'd been given over break, since, you know, exam stress wasn't enough, and before he knew it school would be back in session. It would be fine, it would be--

The doorbell chimed.

He almost dropped the knife full of mustard on the counter top. Who? Who could that be? No one was out now. They were all eating holiday meals and tucked away inside family homes. For a moment his traitorous mind said it was his parents, but he'd FaceTimed with them earlier, and the landscape behind them had been anything but close to Insomnia. Besides, why would they ring the doorbell? They would just walk right in the door.

Great. He was probably about to get kidnapped, because that was just his luck. Kidnapped and he had no one to pay ransom for him, so he was definitely going to die. Joke's on them. He was going to die anyway.

Trying to not be a total idiot, Prompto turned on the porch light and checked the peephole. When he saw who it was, he fumbled with the lock and pulled the door open like his life depended on it. It was Ignis. "Iggy?" Oh, his voice sounded so soft and rough and terrible. He hated it, thanks. Was it going to be this obvious from now on? That he was dying? Would he give it away any time he talked? He'd rather die right now. Well. Maybe not _right_ now. He didn't want to drop dead in front of Ignis, but...as soon as he was gone would be great, thanks.

Moreover, why was he here? At his home? Why did he have to be squinting like an adorable cat waking up in sunlight? Why did he look just a little disheveled like he'd just run here? Why did it always have to be such a good look on him? No. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. No! No panicking! He had to act normal. Until Ignis was gone.

"Good evening." Ignis cleared his throat, as though he felt awkward about this too, but this was Ignis. Perfect, composed Ignis who could never feel awkward about anything, let alone visiting the house of a person he didn't even like...or know. “His Highness was in such a clamor to enjoy the festivities, it seems he forgot to actually deliver gifts to his loved ones.” Loved ones, Ignis said, like Noctis loved him. They were friends, but the end of their friendship was closing in, even without this illness that was killing him. Even if he'd been destined to live...well, Prompto knew this had been going to be the last Crystallo Nox they'd spend as friends. By next year, Noctis would be a full time prince with no time for a pleb like him, and well...that was for the best, wasn't it? No, love was...too strong a word.

He didn't argue it though. Instead, he reached out and took the present, eager to not seem ungrateful or suspicious in any way.

"Uhhm," he paused, chewing on his cheek. What was the appropriate reaction here? Probably to invite him in, right? That was the pleasantry type of thing to do, right? Invite him in for tea, and then Ignis would say no, that he had to get back to his family, and then they'd go their separate ways and it would be fine, and no one would be suspicious of anything, right? Now he just had to say it. "Do you...want to come in for tea?" It was harder than he cared to admit to say those words. Too hard.

He waited for the rejection of his offer, waited to be able to just shut the door and pretend the man he was literally dying for hadn't just showed up one his doorstep with a gift like it was normal, but then, "Yes." Fuck. What was he thinking?! He had uncles to get home to! Why was he saying yes?! "That would be lovely, thank you."

Just kill him now. Just fucking kill him now.

Prompto stepped aside and let Ignis into his house. His empty, not decorated, too clean for a family of three, clearly not really celebrating Crystallo Nox house. Seriously, if Ramuh wanted to smite him, now was the absolutely perfect time. Please. No? No. He shut the door. "Kitchen's this way." He managed to get himself in front of Ignis and led the way, begging whatever Astral might be listening for Ignis to be in a rush, to not notice the lack of decorations, to not think about where his parents were, to just chug a mug of tea and leave. And they would never speak of this again. Ever. Not even after he was dead. As they passed through the living room though, he felt like he could feel Ignis' eyes taking it in, the television on the proper channel, the lights in the window and the blanket on the couch, and literally nothing else at all. He could feel the judgement, feel the disapproval, just. Ugh.

"So, lucky you, I was already boiling a kettle." Did his cheer sound fake? It sounded fake. He wasn't even convincing himself right now. Yet he couldn't stop. "Cause, you know, even I can't burn water, right?" It wasn't whistling yet, but he knew it was close enough. It wouldn't be more than a minute or two. He opened the cupboard, and pulled down two old, but still whole and unchipped mugs. They weren't the fun shaped ones that Noctis always pointed out at stores, they were plain, to the point where he could have put them in a Crow's Nest diner and no one would know the difference. Prompto was pretty sure one of them had once had a logo on the side, but it had worn off so long ago that you couldn't even tell it had ever been there.

When he turned back around, he found Ignis doing perhaps the rudest thing he'd ever seen him do; he had picked up the package of bologna and was reading the nutritional facts on the back. "Dude! Don't! You don't wanna read that!" Prompto vigorously shook his head even as he tugged the package from fingers that didn't even try to resist him. "I'm going to be eating it, and even I don't want to be reading that!" He put it back down next to the cheese, and moved to get the teabags out of another cabinet. The kettle began to whistle as he went past, and idly he turned the burner off.

He pulled the box down from the cabinet and realized, too late, that Ignis wouldn't normally drink tea made from a teabag. He'd have it loose, probably a specialty blend, and...This wasn't going to be good enough. "Sorry, Iggy, I only have teabags. I didn't think to ask if that was okay--"

"Prompto."

"Yeah?"

"Where are your parents?"

Shit. "At...work?" It was the truth, after all. "People don't just stop needing help because it's Crystallo Nox, you know."

"Hm." Ugh. That wasn't a good sounding hm. "But where? Physically? On a map?"

Double shit. Not just because he'd asked for a specific place, but because he didn't really know. "Cleigne? Maybe?" The backdrop behind them had been sunny and full of trees, so...yeah. Maybe Cleigne, not that it really mattered. It was enough of an answer for Ignis' purposes to say "Not in Insomnia" he was sure.

In the living room, the special's opening jingle began to play, but Prompto knew he wasn't going to be running to watch it. Not until he got Ignis out of his house. In front of him, Ignis took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as though something was giving him a headache. It was him. He was giving Ignis a headache. "So allow me to get this correct: It's Crystallo Nox, and you are here, alone, and have clearly been alone for a while, considering that your parents are over half a continent away--"

"We talked this morning, if that makes you feel any better."

"It does not," Ignis bluntly refuted. "On top of that, you're seriously ill, and this," the sandwich ingredients laid out on the counter were gestured to, "is what you are going to consider a holiday meal? That is what I am supposed to accept?"

"I mean? Yeah?" Prompto shrugged, not really knowing where else Ignis was going to go with this.

"No." Ignis sighed, and his glasses were put back on his face. "Go get your coat and put your shoes on. We're going."

"Going...where?" Ignis didn't answer him. Instead, he had his phone out and was clearly texting someone. Panic bubbled up inside him. "You're not telling Noct, are you?"

"No, but if you don't go get your coat on now, I will be."

"Please don't."

Ignis spared him a glance over the edge of his phone. "Then you'd best run."

He ran. He bolted up the stairs to his room so fast that it knocked the hana in his chest around and he ended up doubled over coughing as quietly as he could into his hands. When the fit passed, some time, but obviously not too long, later, he had two small clusters of three buds in his hands. At this rate he'd be dead before he even found out how many exams he'd failed. He didn't have time to waste thinking about that, though. He had to get his coat and get down to Ignis before he decided to tell Noctis almost everything Prompto had ever attempted to stop Noct from knowing.

With his coat on, he ran back downstairs to find Ignis still in the kitchen. He noticed his counter clear. Ignis had put all his sandwich fixings away. "I..." Ignis began, "I did not actually expect you to run, Prompto. You shouldn't be running."

"It's fine! I'm fine!" He was anything but fine. The farthest thing from fine. Ignis wasn't going to get to know that.

"Go...walk to get your shoes on." There was a soft ping from Ignis' pocket, and out came the phone again. "Uncle says he'll be expecting us."

Wait. What? _What?!_ "Your uncle?!"

"Uncle Ventus, precisely, but I told him to pass the message onto Uncle Tellus as well."

"No! No, no, no! I can't--That's your family!"

The smile Ignis gave him was somehow both a little evil and very amused. "I'm aware."

"I--I can't intrude on your holiday family dinner!"

"It's not an intrusion if you're invited. That aside, Uncle Ventus adores guests. He's thrilled you're coming. Now." A hand was placed on his shoulder. When had Ignis gotten so close. "Your shoes are by the door, yes?"

"...Yeah."

From that point to the point where Prompto actually found himself standing outside the door to Ignis' uncles' apartment, he sort of found himself feeling like he was floating in a dream. He wasn't sure whether it was a nice dream or a literal nightmare, but he didn't really feel like he was awake. He was in Ignis' car, not in the back with Noctis, but shotgun, watching the road. They didn't talk, there was just...Crystallo Nox everywhere, and the whurr of the engine, and then there was that overly fancy apartment building all decked out in lights and crystals. He didn't even let himself be upset about the elevator ride. A dream indeed, until the door was flung open and Ventus wearing a very bright, very gaudy sweater was practically pulling him into the apartment, all cheer and enthusiasm.

"You have perfect timing! Dinner is almost ready!"

"I can go finish up if you like, Uncle."

"That would be great, Iggy." Ignis, who had somehow managed to toe off his shoes and put on the house slippers in the span of like four seconds, disappeared off into the kitchen without another word, leaving Prompto at Ventus' mercy. "First thing's first! Come pull a cracker with me!"

"A...what?"

"Tellus?" Ventus called out behind him. "Would you hand me a cracker?" Almost out of nowhere, or perhaps he'd just blended in against the colors and decor, a man appeared behind Ventus, holding what must have been a "cracker." This must have been Tellus, and though Prompto had never seen Tellus before, he probably would have known it even if they'd just been passing in the street. Why? Because this man was literally Ignis, except perhaps a couple decades or so older. He was tall and lean, with that same sort of sandy brown hair and glasses over bright eyes. Even their faces seemed almost scarily similar, minus a few age lines that Prompto couldn't even really call wrinkles. If you put them in the same suit and the same glasses they'd be almost identical. It was...yeah, it was a little scary.

"Thank you," Ventus said as he took the cracker, breaking the spell of awe over Prompto.

"You're welcome." Tellus made to move back, only to stop short when Ventus' hand caught his arm.

"Nuh uh." Ventus tapped his own cheek twice, and Prompto was left thoroughly confused, until Tellus gave a sound that was between a laugh and a sigh before he leaned down and pressed a kiss against said cheek. Oh. Right. They were...not married, but they'd been together longer than most married couples. Of course they shared affection. "That's better."

Tellus did move away then, but not without sparing a glance that Prompto would actually call a glare at him first. He settled into a chair at the elaborately decorated dinner table, and Prompto just wanted to run.

"Here." Ventus' voice drew Prompto's attention back to him, and he realized that he was being offered one end of the cracker. Oh. It was one of those. He didn't call those crackers. They were party poppers. "On three?"

"Sure."

Ventus counted, and then they both pulled. The pop it made was almost loud enough to hurt his ears, and there was a clatter as the insides fell to the floor. It was Ventus who scrambled to pick them up, but then he began to hand each item over to him. "Look! You got...a hat, and a necklace, some candy, and a fortune!" That was definitely a step above the party poppers he'd always seen. Usually they just had some confetti and maybe a paper crown or a piece of candy. Prompto couldn't help but wonder how much more these ones must have cost. "Come on, put them on! Read your fortune!"

He read the fortune first, and he bit back a hard laugh. It read: _'Fret not. All's well that ends well.'_ So vague and fake. He tucked it in his coat pocket and then, with Ventus' eyes on him, slid the dragon bead necklace over his head and put the felt cap on his head. "You look festive." Ventus said with a satisfied nod. "Now, coat off. Dinner should be out any moment."

Ventus practically took his coat off for him and hung it up beside the rest of the family's coats. His coat looked so out of place there. Ventus' coat was more colorful and perhaps a bit thicker than either Tellus' or Ignis' but they were all clearly of a higher class and quality than his stupid little bubble coat. One of these things doesn't belong with the others, and for Prompto it was very clear which one.

Beside him, Ventus tugged on his sleeve, and led him away from the door. "So, Iggy tells me you're into photography. Is that true?"

Ignis said that? It must have been a while ago. Thinking back, Prompto didn't think Ignis had even seen him with his camera since his surgery. He needed to smile. He was supposed to be smiling, right? He was always supposed to be smiling. He tried. It was probably only half successful. "I mean, yeah. I dabble a little in it."

"Can I see?"

"Sure? I mean!" He reached up, rubbing his neck nervously. "I don't have my camera right now, so it's just phone pics, but..."

"That's okay!" He was all but pushed into a chair at the table, and a glass of something cold was pushed into his hands before Ventus pulled another chair up beside him. "I want to see."

He had to put the glass down, (it was creamy looking, so maybe it was eggnog?) and fish his phone out of his pocket. After the first ten pictures or so, it was pretty clear that Ventus was the type of person who would say something nice about each and every one. It wasn't about his technique, more about the subject matter. "Oh, look at the cute puppy!" or "Look at how tall that tree is!" or even, fondly, "Noct looks very happy." Across the table, Tellus kept himself occupied with a book that looked really new, so he'd probably just gotten it that morning. A couple of times Ventus had tried to get him to come over and look, and Prompto wasn't sure whether it was more or less distressing that Tellus didn't even make an attempt to get up.

"Oh, the way you managed to capture the light filtering through the leaves at sunset is quite lovely." Ignis' voice right by his ear was easily enough to startle him badly, and it was probably only Ignis' hand grasping at his shoulder that kept him from falling out of his chair. "Are you all right?"

"Fine! Just. How long have you been there?"

Ignis chuckled softly, and it was both pleasure and pain in his ears. "Long enough." There was a soft clack as a bowl of mashed potatoes was set down on the table, and Prompto watched as that hand then came over to lightly tap the glass of eggnog. "Are you sure that's wise, Uncle?"

"It's Crystallo Nox, Iggy. It's fine."

"...All right."

Without another word, Ignis disappeared back into the kitchen, and Prompto was left feeling a little lost. "What's wrong with the eggnog?"

"Nothing!" Venus huffed. "Right, Tellus?"

From across the table, Tellus spared them both a glance, and then sighed at whatever he saw in Ventus' face. "Even His Majesty likes Ventus' eggnog."

"That's right. So drink up!" Under the scrutiny of Ventus' gaze, Prompto picked up his glass and drank. It was good. It was creamy and sweet, and yet there was something spicy in it, because it burned pleasantly at the back of his throat. "Well?"

"It's really good," he answered, his face genuinely smiling for the first time in...wow. Hours. Longer if he didn't count that morning. That was a long time for him.

"Damn right it is. You drink as much as you like. I can, and will, always make more."

Prompto drank eggnog and continued to show Ventus pictures while Ignis brought out dish after dish set up on the table family style. Prompto tried not to notice what a beautiful spread it was, like something out of a magazine. He tried not to think about how he shouldn't be here. That he should have been at home, asleep after overdosing on bologna sandwiches by now. Instead he was here, sitting before a feast and on his second glass of eggnog.

Once everything was out they actually sat down to eat. Ventus moved to his side of the table, and it left a sort of cold hole beside him. Ignis sat at the other end of the table, and Tellus remained where he was. As terrifying as Tellus' scrutiny was, it was better than having to look directly at Ignis' face all meal. It was served family style, but it seemed that Ventus basically took it upon himself to fill everyone's plate, and soon Prompto had a refilled glass of eggnog and a plate piled high with ham and sides. "You're a growing boy," Ventus told him when he tried to protest the amount. "You eat up." There was then the return of the cheek pat, and then Ignis was given a similarly large amount of food. He was only two years older, Prompto guessed. He too might still be considered "a growing boy."

Prompto wouldn't call the dinner conversation stilted, but it was quiet and polite. There wasn't even much of it, if he were being honest. There was too much food to focus on. It seemed to take all the room in his stomach, but he finally managed to empty his plate, his glass though, it never seemed to ever really empty, even though he drank from it regularly. He suspected Ventus refilled it anytime it even got halfway down. Prompto wasn't complaining about that. He liked it and the burn it left at his throat.

"I'll go get the trifle." Ignis announced after it seemed all of their plates were empty.

"There's more?!" Prompto groaned, falling just short of letting his head actually hit the table.

Ignis responded with that chuckle again. The one that was both pleasure and pain. The one he really actually wanted to feel against his lips or neck-- "Just a little. It's light. Don't worry." Ignis took their plates, and Prompto was left wondering what a trifle was.

The answer seemed to be "the biggest freaking parfait Prompto had ever seen." The thing that hit the table was huge and clear, and it seemed to have oranges, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream inside. It was served onto plates that were thankfully smaller than their dinner plates, and Prompto was left to pick at it. It wasn't that it didn't taste good, of course not, it was of course delicious, but his stomach had already expanded three times, and he was honestly already thinking about all the running he couldn't even do to work this meal off.

He had managed to nibble down most of it before Ventus said, "Why don't we go watch that special now?" In fact, Ventus was already getting up. Prompto wasn't sure he could get up. Not only was his stomach overly full, but all his limbs felt oddly heavy. "That'll put all of us right to sleep."

By some miracle, he did manage to stand up, though the world seemed to blur a little at the edges and almost spun when he did. and, after refilling his eggnog glass yet again, Ventus herded them all out to the living room, where Prompto felt just as guilty disturbing their perfect, warm, family space as he had to the first time he'd been here. At least this time, he wasn't sat down on the couch, but aside in one of the comfy chairs. Ignis sat in the other one, perfectly poised and beautiful, like he always was, and his uncles sat on the couch, not quite touching. They were perfect too. It was okay if he was a little jealous of how perfect they were, and how in love, and how he was never going to experience anything like that, right? It was okay. To be a little jealous.

He almost asked. Almost.

The royal family Crystallo Nox special he had missed at home was on the television, and it dully registered in his brain that someone, maybe Ignis himself, had recorded it. He wasn't really watching though. Even when he looked at the screen, nothing seemed to register or make a mark. Everything was just so...just so...

"Why is everything soft?" He was barely aware that it was his own voice asking that.

"Because you're drunk," Ignis answered. He didn't sound pleased.

"Is...is that what this is?"

"Yes," Ignis sighed.

"Is that why I'm so tired too?"

"Aww," Ventus interjected, "Are you tired, Prompto?"

"Yeah." His tone was whining. He didn't like it. He couldn't stop. "I wanna sleep."

"Okay. You can sleep."

The television was turned off, and suddenly Prompto was overwhelmed with guilt. "No," he whined some more. "Don't do that. I've already ruined--"

"None of that," Ventus cut him off. "You've ruined nothing."

He had, though. He'd ruined everything. Their family meal, their whole fucking holiday. He'd ruined it. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. "I'm...I'm just gonna walk home, okay?"

"Absolutely not." Ignis was standing right in front of him. When had he gotten up? "You'll stay here tonight. Come on, up."

Prompto tried, he really did. He didn't want to disappoint Ignis, or upset him even more, but. "I can't." Somewhere between sitting down in this chair and now his legs seemed to have literally become jelly. He couldn't even move them without feeling like was going to fall through everything. Even the floor. Even this chair. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Ignis was sighing again, and it definitely didn't sound like it was okay. He'd definitely ruined everything. Why hadn't Ramuh struck him down when he'd asked for it? "Here." He felt Ignis' arms behind his back and under his knees, and for a second it felt like he was flying. Ignis had picked him up. Oh. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it was wrong, but he leaned into it, and allowed himself to pretend for a second that Ignis cared about him. As him. Not as Noct's friend.

"You're so warm," he mumbled, even as that warmth overwhelmed him. "It's nice."

He would never know if Ignis said anything back, because he was already asleep to the sound of Ignis' heart.


	12. Ignis

“Prompto?”  Ignis tapped the blond’s check lightly, frowning slightly when the boy scarcely stirred.  Perhaps he should have attempted this earlier, but he’d been loathe to wake the blond before he absolutely had to.  Perhaps that had been a mistake.

Prompto groaned, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he resisted the waking world.  The blond attempted to roll away from the touch, but there was nowhere to go, and Ignis was accustomed to the morning tribulations of a far more stubborn beast.

“Prompto.”  _Tap tap_.  “Wake up.  I have something for you.”  Something being aspirin, of course.  He had a glass of water, too, for that matter, and though he fully expected the boy to attempt to get out of it – particularly if this was his first time drinking to excess – he fully intended the blond to drink the full glass, regardless of how unsettled it would feel in his stomach. The blond groaned, then one blue eye slowly opened, squinting unhappily up at him.  Another groan, and a hand lifted to cover his face, blocking out what little light filtered into the room.

“Apologies for waking you.”  Ignis pitched his voice as softly as he was able, pressing the tablets into the younger male’s hand before following it with the glass of water.  “I imagined you’d prefer I offer you a ride home to the alternative.”  Having a hangover was bad enough without Uncle Ventus aggressively trying to feed you.  Ignis had learned that lesson the hard way, naturally.  And he could still remember the man’s unrestrained glee.

The boy gave another long groan, but after a moment, pushed himself into an upright position, shuffling off towards the bathroom with his eyes squinted to almost closing and his countenance charmingly disheveled.  Ignis took a moment to neaten where he’d slept, folding up the blanket and draping it over the back of the couch before returning to the kitchen.  By the time the blond exited the bathroom looking only marginally more awake and equally miserable, Ignis was lying in wait, though merely with a cup of coffee. Hangover aside, Ignis empathized greatly with the need for a little something to get one going in the morning.  After all, contrary to popular belief, he was very much not a morning person, and frankly scarcely even a person at all until after his first cup of coffee.

The blond took a look drink of the warm brew, grimacing slightly at the taste, but otherwise drinking without complaint.  Ignis merely gathered the last of his things as he waited; he could spare a few minutes, after all, for the boy to brace himself against the morning.  And if not, well.  It was frankly his own fault for not waking him sooner.  But as it would have it, the blond was ready to go quickly enough, in motion even if not appearing particularly alert. Ignis certainly couldn’t hold it against him.  Few people were prepared for Uncle Ventus’s eggnog the first time.  And possibly the second, for that matter.

The blond settled into the passenger seat of Ignis’s car, scarcely making the effort to buckle up before he curled in on himself, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the morning sun.  Ignis turned the dial to off on his radio before starting the car, pulled as smoothly as he could manage out onto to the road as he directed the vehicle back toward the Argentum household.  His own first hangover hadn’t been so long ago as to not have some fellow feeling, and it was certainly no trouble for him to not make this anymore unpleasant for the blond than it already had to be.

Soon, he pulled up in front of the blond’s house, but as the boy reached for the door handle, he cleared his throat pointedly, unsurprised by the startled grimace the sound evoked.  Ignis reached into the back seat, retrieved and offered the paper grocer's bag he'd brought along.  “This is for you.”

“Uhm?”  The blond stared blankly for a moment, hands coming up to take it up reflex.  “What?”

“To take home.”  He cleared his throat, his now empty hand coming to rest awkwardly on the center console.  “Uncle Ventus made it up for you.”  With leftovers.  And possibly bonus muffins.  Because of course he did.  It was Uncle Ventus, after all.  “He would be most distressed if you refused it.”

“Oh!  Uhm.”  The moment stalled.  Ignis fixed the blond with a particularly shrewd look that was frequently effective against disagreement.  “Thanks?”

Ignis gave a small nod, watching the blond a moment longer before allowing his gaze to shift away.  Had his eyes always been that blue?  He hadn’t noticed the little flecks of violet before.  It was rather lovely, truth be told, but that was neither here nor there. . .

“I. . .”  When Ignis turned back, the blond still had his hand on the door, but his attention was diverted out through the windshield, bottom lip pulled between his teeth to lightly gnaw in apparent nervousness.  He waited.  A stuttering breath, then the blond seemed to brace himself, shoulders tightening slightly as he pushed the words out.  “Sorry I ruined your family dinner.”

“You did no such thing.”  The words were immediate, not particularly thought through before they were spoken.  The blond's attention jerked over, eyes wide and cheeks flushing.  Finally, eye contact, even if it was accompanied with such a patently doubtful expression.  “I assure you, Uncle Ventus adores having company.”  If anything, that was an understatement.  “And personally speaking. . . I enjoyed your presence as well.”  He paused, managing a somewhat rueful smile before adding, “I only wish I’d had the presence of mind to warn you about Uncle Ventus’s eggnog ahead of time.”

The blond laughed – a surprised sound, but present.  Much better.  “It was good!”

“But a bit strong, mmmm?”

“Well. . . you got a point there.”

“One can hardly blame you, though,” he added thoughtfully.  “It is true that even His Majesty favours it.”  He hesitated, lips pressing together as he considered the wisdom of what he was about to share, but ultimately, he pushed forward anyway.  “In fact, he once whipped out a thermos of it in the middle of a council meeting.”

“What?!  No way!”  Again, laughter filled the vehicle, the blond’s expression brightening with the sound, his hand loosening its death grip on the door handle.  After a moment, he grimaced, his hangover no doubt in disagreement with the loud laughter, joyful as it had been.  Ignis grimaced for a different reason, remembering how casually His Majesty had pulled the thermos from the ether and the holographic tonberry sticker that, though worn, still stuck quite firmly to the thermos.  He’d put that sticker there years ago, back when he’d been four feet tall and absolutely obsessed.  And that had been the day, after all, he’d found out Uncle Ventus had access to the King’s armiger.

“Oh, yes, it was quite memorable,” he commented lightly.  “I believe – “  He cut off mid thought as his phone gave a shrill chime, and frowned down at it as he pulled it from his pocket, his attention immediately on the text he’d received.  Yes, of course that morning’s budget meeting was being pushed up.  Lord Flavinius always pulled this garbage after the holidays, always did his best to take advantage of people’s inattention and weariness following a celebration.  Occasionally, it even worked.  Unacceptable.  Conversation momentarily forgotten, he typed out a response, confirming he would be there for the earlier time, though six knew he now wouldn’t have time to stop for a fresh coffee.  It would be worth it, though, if it meant foiling that insufferable old asshole.  Though he made a point to be perfectly reasonable as a matter of course, he loathed the racist, backwards councilor.  As far as he could ascertain, the feeling was quite mutual.

“Apologies.”  He tucked the phone back away, his attention turning back to the blond who looked tense and uncomfortable once more.  “Duty beckons, I’m afraid.  I will see you at His Highness’s later, I presume?”

“Yeah!” the blond agreed, finally opening the passenger side door.  His smile looked forced.  “See you later.”

He watched the blond go, waiting until he’d closed his front door behind him before pulling away from the curb.  He felt ill at ease, but there was no time to dwell.  He had work to do, after all.

 

* * *

It was nearly afternoon by the time Ignis actually made it into his office, uncaffeinated and irritated by the sheer pointlessness of the meeting he’d just left.  The meeting’s discussion had been rather circular, one side relentlessly pressuring and the other refusing to give in.  No progress could be made at present, but that didn’t stop anyone from arguing about it for two hours.  It was exhausting, and the smell of coffee as he opened his office door was like sweet ambrosia to his soul.

Of course, he hadn’t started any coffee himself yet, so his focus zeroed in on the culprit.  Noctis.  Sitting in his desk chair with a serious expression on his face, waiting like some diabolical villain about to reveal his master plan.  All he needed was a cat to stroke as he chortled at his own brilliance.  Very dramatic.

“What’s wrong?”  If the prince was awake, that meant he hadn’t been waiting long.  Which meant the situation could very well be urgent.  Ignis lightly closed the door behind him, then poured himself a cup of coffee.  He could get a few sips in, at least, while he waited.

The dark-haired prince took a deep breath, began to speak, then his expression crumpled.  _Six._

“Noctis?”  He pulled a box of tissues from his desk, offering it to the younger boy.  Though he wasn’t quite crying yet, he was close.  “What happened?”

“It’s Prompto,” he managed, struggling for a moment to get his emotions under control.  The prince was usually so reserved with his feelings, it was no wonder they spilled all over the place whenever he lost control, though these days, usually it was sulkiness he had to contend with.  “He won’t _just confess,_ and he doesn’t want me to help but if I don’t he’ll die!”  He took a deep breath, his fine features hardening into an expression of determination.  “I have to do it anyway.  He can’t just.  But.  I don’t know where to start?”

“Mmmm.”  Leaving the tissue box next to the prince, he moved to pull out his planner, flipping through the bulging pages before finding what he was looking for and setting it down, open, in front of the younger boy.  “Here’s the number for the specialist that handled my case.  Give her a call.”

“Like right now?”  The dark-haired boy looked surprised, as though he hadn’t come here expecting his advisor to fix this for him.

“Time is of the essence, is it not?”

“Then I’ll just - ?”

“Go ahead.”  Ignis settled on the nearby love seat – an indulgence, to be sure, but given that he had, on occasion, stayed overnight at the office, one well worth the cost.  “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

True to his word, he settled in with a sampling of his never-ending paperwork, half listening as he fumbled through the phone call, answering questions as best as he could.  By the time he hung up, Ignis was well and truly focused on the task at hand.  It took him a minute or two to realize his office had fallen silent.  He looked up to find blue eyes fixed on him, the prince’s expression one of ill ease, despite the fact that things were, presumably, finally moving forward.  Rather than ask, he waited.  If Noctis had something he wished to say, he would say it.  Pushing him was rarely effective.

“She thought I was calling because you’d relapsed.”

Oh.  Well.  He supposed that would be a concern, considering he had been considered at high risk for it.  Something about the subject of his infatuation being likely to be someone in the workplace.  A reasonable assumption, given his schedule.  “Not yet,” he commented mildly, gathering up his papers to move back to his desk.  The prince would be on his way shortly, no doubt.

“That’s not funny, Specs!”

Ignis glanced back up, startled to see just how angry the prince looked.  “Of course, Highness.”  Too soon, clearly.  It was a sensitive situation, and Noctis was already on edge.  “I apologize.”  He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling off-balance.

“I wish you’d told me.”  He prince was still staring, still angry, but there was also something sad to his expression.  Something raw.  Ignis couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Yes,” he agreed, stilling in the face of that intensity.  “Perhaps that would have been better.  However.  There are no do-overs.  We must take the present as it is.”

“I know, Specs.  I just. . .”  Noctis sighed, frustrated, and rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar motion as he rose.  “I really wish you’d told me.”

Ignis frowned.  “I know.”  He didn’t really know what else to say to that.  He couldn’t rightly say he wished the same; after all, he assumed he’d had his reasons, and what else did he really have, if he couldn’t even trust in his own decisions?  Perhaps he _had_ made a mistake, but there was nothing for it now.

The prince sighed again, then slumped for the door.  “I’ll see you later?”

“As ever,” he agreed mildly, settling behind his desk as he watched the boy leave.  He felt. . . bereft.  Like he’d lost something immaterial before he’d even known it was an option.  And he did not like the feeling at all.

* * *

 

Ignis frowned at the unmistakable sound of yelling coming from within the prince’s apartment.  He’d heard it all the way from the stairwell, and while for a moment he had hoped it was a noisy neighbor, he knew better than to think anyone but the prince himself would be so rude in a building whose tenants were made up of mostly crownsguard, anyway.  Though what he could possibly be yelling about. . .

Ah, well.  If Prompto was present – and unless he was mistaken, that was his voice he was also hearing – it was rather obvious, wasn’t it?  He carefully balanced the groceries in his arms, then keyed in the code to unlock the apartment door, brow drawing together at the full force of the argument.  Discarding his shoes in the entry, he stepped deeper, the sight of the boys entirely expected with the audio display he’d already been subjected to.  There was Noctis, sulky and angry and about five seconds from exploding, and Prompto there across from him, shoulders slumped and with a stubborn set to his expression.  Nothing constructive would come of this.  Ignis cleared his throat.

“I could use assistance, if you wouldn’t mind.” He directed his steps toward the kitchen, only pausing to specify.  “Prompto.”  For a few moments longer, a charged silence hung heavy behind him, but then the distinctive sound of hurried footsteps followed, and the blond was pulling bags from his arms, helping to put away what wouldn’t immediately be used under the advisor's efficient direction.

“Look, Ignis, I know what you’re – ”

“Could you please wash and cut these?”  He placed the Leiden peppers in front of the blond, smiling slightly at his startled expression.  “Finely diced, please.  We wouldn’t want his highness picking them all out.”  Not that finely diced would stop him, but if he had to work for it, he wouldn’t even think to suspect what he blended into the rest of the food.

“S-Sure!”

Leaving him to it, Ignis set up the rice maker to cook, then turned his attention to the meat, a tender sirloin that would be absolutely perfect for the dish he had in mind.  They settled into an almost comfortable silence as they worked, but it couldn’t last.  Though he’d cut the blond off earlier, he had lured him in here for precisely the conversation he was expecting.

“Noctis,” he started, paused as he carefully sliced a bit of connective tissue from the meat, “has never been especially skilled at connecting with people.  Understand that you are the first real friend he’s made.”

“That’s not true!” the blond was quick to protest.  “You and Gladio – ”

“ – were chosen for him,” Ignis provided, leveling a brief look at the blond.  Seeing he had almost finished with the peppers, he handed him another small bag, this one containing two sweet onions.  “I was six when I was sworn as his retainer.”

“ _Dude._ ”

“And the Amicitias are quite literally born to protect the royal line.”  He cut the meat into strips, then down to more manageable pieces.  “While we are all quite fond of each other, our friendship has and always will be intertwined with duty.”  Setting the meat aside, he washed his hands and pulled a pan from the cabinet, dropping a wallop of butter and a splash of olive oil within before turning on the heat.  A minute or two and it would be ready for the first ingredient, and then he’d turn his attention to blending the sauce.  “You chose Noctis for himself.  Not because he’s the prince, or to use him for your own gain.  To you he is Noctis first, and the prince after, is that not right?”  As far as he could tell, though he himself hadn’t seen it at first, the blond’s inclusion in the prince’s life had a largely positive effect.  As briefly as he’d known the blond, he was loathe to see that slip away.

“Well. . .yeah, but.”  The blond fell silent, fidgeting in place for a moment, letting out a gusty sigh before he spoke again.  “If I just let him throw money at my problems, isn’t that the same thing?  Then I’m just taking advantage of him, too.”

Ignis frowned, lips pressing tightly together.  That wasn’t the same thing at all.  “But you’d be alive.”  He added the meat to the pan, giving it a stir before turning the heat down slightly.  “Understand, more than anything, that’s what Noctis wants.”  Shocking, that he would wish for his best friend to live, and when discovering said friend could not afford the medical care he needed, he wished to step in and help.  Which was not at all the same thing as using the prince as the blond seemed to suggest.  “Even if it costs him your friendship, I believe so long as you were alive, he’d consider it worth it.  He will not back down on this.”  He gave the meat another stir, then gathered up the vegetables the blond had cut.  It was almost ready for them.

“If you cannot let him help you for its own sake,” Ignis added, pausing with his hands full of finely (if somewhat unevenly) diced vegetables to level another frank look, “I suggest you find a way to compromise.”  He dropped the peppers and onion in with the meat, giving it a thorough stir as he spoke over the sizzling juices.  “Consider it, at least.”

Ignis almost thought he’d pushed too hard in the long silence that followed, but when he looked away from the stove, the blond was giving him an altogether peculiar look.  Ignis merely cocked a brow, waiting, and after moment more, the blond gave a resolute nod.

“I can try to do that.”  He didn’t sound so sure about it, but Ignis would take what he could get.

“Go on, then,” he made a little shooing motion with his stirring spoon, lips curving in a small smile.  “You know His Highness is in full pout mode by now.  Perhaps you can speak like rational beings now that you’ve both cooled off a little?”

The blond started to speak, then seemed to hesitate, shoulders curving downward in a physical manifestation of his retreat.  After a moment, he gave another small nod, managing a quick “Thanks Iggy!” before he bounced from the room.  He did wonder what the blond had been about to say, but if he couldn’t say it, well.  Perhaps it was best left unspoken, anyway.

It would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis loves tonberries and I will fite you on that.  
> (ง'̀-'́)ง
> 
> If the name of that lord sounds familiar, it's probably because you've read Ginia's [Oh You Wonderous Creature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274465/chapters/25214940). If it doesn't. . . please go read it. It's marvelous Gladnis goodness.


	13. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday!
> 
> As you might have noticed, there's a set number of chapters now! That means we're actually closing in on the end of this story! 
> 
> As you also might have noticed this is also now a series, though there are no other stories in it yet. Hm...I wonder what that could mean...?
> 
> Enjoy! <3

It wasn't so much that he didn't remember it, but really, the morning after he'd fallen asleep at Ignis' home so drunk he couldn't even stand was just a bunch of foggy moments held together by a piece of string. He mostly remembered the headache and how it had made his entire being hurt. He remembered wanting to die and not just because everything ached. He didn't really remember the car ride, though he remembered how the sunshine hurt to even see. He didn't think he could forget being told that once King Regis had pulled out a Thermos of Ventus' eggnog in a meeting. He didn't think Ignis would lie to him, not about something so ridiculous, but it didn't feel real. Like the king was just a person. He was, wasn't he? Like Noctis, just a person who had a title. Yet he couldn't help but feel...out of place hearing it. Perhaps that was why it stuck with him more clearly than anything else.

That conversation had made him forget that he was in pain. It had made him forget that he was dying. It had even made him forget that Ignis hated everything about him for a moment. It was just a moment, and then Ignis' phone chimed and all that forgetfulness fled, and he was just a pathetic, dying guy with a hangover again. He was happy to flee the car with the bundle of food in his hand.

Inside his house he stuck the food in the fridge without even looking at what was inside. It would probably need to be separated out later, but that was later, and the fridge was safe for now. Right now, to say that the aspirin had done wonders for him was to speak a lie, and by the time he was up in his room he barely had the presence of mind to plug in his phone to charge before he collapsed in bed, asleep again before he could even pull the blankets up around him.

It wasn't really like sleeping was much better. He wasn't in pain when he was asleep, but his dreams were never pleasant, and their stresses lingered inside him even after he opened his eyes and couldn't even remember what they were about. He didn't know what time it was when he next really woke up, not at first, if only because he was running for the bathroom, coughing so harshly he thought he'd vomit before he actually got the flowers out.

He hadn't coughed at all last night, even though he'd actually been around Ignis in a much more intimate setting than he was used to. He spared a thought as to why, and he decided it was the eggnog. Was that a thing? Alcohol putting a stopper on your hana? He didn't know. Was there research into that? He didn't know that either. At the end of his coughing fit he decided that if it did work like that, you'd have to keep someone drunk pretty constantly, because now his sink as filled with more flowers than he'd ever coughed up before, like all the flowers he should have coughed up had attacked at once.

How much longer could he go on like this?

Prompto had been panting over the sink for a small eternity when he heard his phone ringing with the ringtone he'd set specifically for Noctis. He wasn't really completely over the hangover, he found. As he wobble-ran for his phone, his head pounded, and everything still hurt, yet he was happy to find that he could manage a chipper sounding "Hey!" when he put it to his ear.

 _"Hey!"_ Noctis returned on the other end. _"How was yesterday?"_ Anxiety flared up inside him. Had Ignis told him? That he was alone in this house? That he'd spent the night in Ignis' uncle's home instead?

"It was good!" He went for instead, deciding that unless Noctis actually called him out on it, he wasn't going to give anything away. "You know, the usual. Opened presents, ate food, watched you be a dork on T.V...The usual."

_"Hey, come on, I wasn't that bad this year."_

"Dude, you are always that bad."

 _"Jerk,"_ Noctis pouted at him. Prompto grinned, knowing it wasn't even a bad pout, especially when, a moment later he spoke without any pout at all. _"Did you like your gift?"_

For a second, Prompto broke. Noctis'...gift? What gift? Oh. Oh! The gift! The gift that had been Ignis' original purpose in coming over. The gift that was still left wrapped down on his kitchen counter because he hadn't opened it before Ignis had practically kidnapped him. That gift!

_"Don't...tell me Ignis didn't bring it. He said he did!"_

"No, no, he totally did! Sorry. Spaced for a second there!"

 _"Are-are you okay?"_ Ah, shit, now Noctis sounded concerned. He had to fix it.

"Yeah, I'm good. I just haven't been up too long. Food coma." Sure, the truth was more like booze coma, but whatever, saying he hadn't been awake very long was true enough.

For a second, it seemed like a victory, because on the other end Noctis gave a small laugh. The next second, it shattered, because the urge to cough came on him too strongly to resist, and when he'd finished with that, Noctis didn't say anything about gifts, and food, and the holiday that they'd just celebrated. Instead he got, _"Have you told him yet?"_

Had he confessed to Ignis, that was what Noctis was really asking. They hadn't really talked about it so bluntly since the day Noctis had found out, but here it was, the conversation he'd tried to avoid, even knowing it couldn't be avoided forever. "No, I. I haven't. And." Prompto sighed, deeply, and that too made him want to cough again. "I'm not going to, Noct."

 _"What?! Prompto! You said you were going to!"_ He hated the edge of panic to Noctis' voice. He hated that he was hurting his best friend. He hated that there wasn't really much he could do about it.

He grit his teeth. He could only push forward and hope this conversation would be over soon. "And I was! At the time."

_"What changed?!"_

Only everything. "I. There." Prompto huffed, hating everything about himself in that moment. He couldn't even talk! "I realized there's no resolution in my confessing."

_"You don't know that!"_

"I do! Confessing won't make me get better either way," not that there was a chance of acceptance, "and it would only make things more awkward between us. So there's no point." Ignis could say he hadn't ruined his holiday all he liked, but the truth was that he'd dragged a guy he's chosen to forget, that he'd barely known a month, to his holiday meal, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty and duty to Noctis. And then he'd gotten drunk, like an idiot, as though Ignis needed more reason to dislike him. "Confessing will only make this worse, so I'm not confessing."

_"Then what are you going to do?"_

"There's nothing I can do, Noct." Die. That was the only thing. Die, knowing that in the end it would be better for everyone that way. It really would be too. His parents wouldn't have to worry about maintaining their house in Insomnia, Noctis could graduate high school and move on without feeling any guilt about the friend he'd need to leave behind, Gladio could stop worrying that his prince was running around in dangerous areas, and Ignis...Ignis wouldn't have to look at someone he'd wanted to forget anymore. "There's nothing anyone can do." Nothing he was willing to accept, anyway.

On the other end, Noctis was silent for so long that if it hadn't been for the absence of a dial tone, Prompto would have thought he'd hung up. Finally, _"Are you sure there's nothing I can do help? I want to help."_

Prompto shook his head, even though Noctis couldn't see him do it. "Nothing. You can't help, Noct. It's my problem. Not yours."

 _"That's bullshit! You're my friend!"_ Prompto couldn't think of how he wanted to reply to that, of how he could reply to that, so he said nothing. Eventually, sounding defeated, Noctis asked. _"Are you still coming over later?"_

"Yeah. I'll be there."

_"Okay. I'll see you."_

"Yep. See you." Then the dial tone did hit his ear and he shut off his phone again before he went back to bed again, where things were no better in his dreams than they were while he was awake.

The next time he woke up, it was time to get ready to go to Noctis' apartment for games, so he showered, feeling like the ick of his hangover washed away with it. After he was dressed he took some more medicine for his lingering headache, and then went on downstairs. He hadn't eaten all day, and though he didn't really feel hungry, he knew he should eat something. He'd practically spent the whole day sleeping, and still he just wanted to pass out. He couldn't be like this at Noctis' place. He'd reached his lifetime quota of how much sadness Noctis was allowed to see from him, and that meant he had to be his normal smiling self when he went. Food would probably help.

When he opened the fridge, the bag of food that Ventus had apparently made for him stared him in the face. He pushed it aside, not ready to deal with it, and instead pulled out the bologna that Ignis had rejected so thoroughly the night before. It had to be eaten after all, and it wasn't bits and pieces of memories that would probably already be painful. Maybe he'd be able to look inside that bag tomorrow. Maybe.

For now, it was hard enough to open Noctis' gift between bites of sandwich. It needed to be done. It was possible, probable even, that Noctis was going to ask about it again that evening. After all, he'd never actually answered as to whether or not he'd liked it. He knew he would, because this was Noctis, and Noctis did good gifts, but actually knowing what it was was kind of important.

He almost cried. Of course. Of course the things inside the professionally wrapped present were things that he knew were expensive, more expensive together than probably everything he'd ever bought Noctis combined. A fancy new lens for his camera, the kind he knew was really high quality and the kind he couldn't buy on his own, and then a chocobo print camera strap that Prompto knew was limited edition, because those sorts of things always were. And he'd probably never even really get to use them. For a second, Prompto considered offering them back, but he knew Noctis would probably smack him into next Tuesday. Maybe he could sell them after he was dead. Hm.

He needed to write out a will, didn't he? Not that it'd be very long. That was for another day though, maybe tomorrow. For now, if he wanted to get even close to Noctis' apartment before dark, he needed to get going.

The cold air outside was not good for his lungs. In fact, it almost felt like he could feel the flowers freeze and rattle around in his chest. At least as it made him cough, no one else on the sidewalks questioned it. It was cold and flu season. Almost everyone ended up with a cough at some point. Just. Most of them coughed up phlegm instead of flowers.

The sun was already low when he finally made it to the front of Noct's building. He was a little late, but normally he ran here instead of walked. Running was healthier, and faster, and all that. Still, he'd made it here before dark and that was the important part. He'd just have to remember how much more time it took him next time.

Noctis let him up and then opened the door for him when he got up there. There was something almost too serious about his face, and Prompto would later kick himself for not picking up on it until he was already taking his shoes off and Noctis began to talk. "So."

"Yeah?"

"I talked to Doctor Adamas today."

That. That did not sound good. "Who's Doctor Adamas?"

"She's . . . a hanahaki specialist." Prompto's brain ran quiet long enough for Noctis to also get out, "She's agreed to take on your case. She'll be here in ten days. She'll operate if that's still what needs to be done."

"What?"

"She'll--"

"I heard what you said!" His voice was too loud. He was yelling. He didn't even care. His entire being was a blaze of panic, anger, and hurt. Hadn't he said no? Hadn't he said that there was nothing Noctis could do for him?! And now this?! He pressed his hands against his eyeballs, his bare feet walking into the living room area, wanting to run, wanting to hit something in frustration. "What am I even supposed to do with that?!"

"Uh? Excuse me? Get the surgery?! Since you won't freaking confess?!"

He just. He just totally didn't get it. Of course he didn't. Of course not! "I! Can't!"

"Why the fuck not?!"

They were both yelling now, and that was really bad. Inside, Prompto knew that, but outwardly he couldn't care less. Because he had to make Noctis understand. He kept thinking they were the same. They weren't the same. "Because I can't afford that!"

"What?" Noctis was quiet, but Prompto was beyond noticing that. Now the cat was out of the bag, there was no stopping. Not now.

"I can't afford to go to some specialist! I can't afford to have my chest opened up and get the hana removed! I can't afford to spend days in a freaking hospital while the costs just keep building up! I can barely afford to get stitches! There we go! I could get the stitches that would go with opening up my chest! I could afford that! But the rest of it! Forget it! My insurance won't cover it! I can't pay for it! It's pointless!"

"That. That's okay."

"How on Eos is that 'okay'?!"

"Because I can pay for it!" Noctis put his hand over his chest in a show of sincerity that only served to make Prompto more upset. "It's okay, because I'll cover it for you. You can't afford it?! That's fine! I can!"

Somewhere beyond them the door opened. Something in his brain picked that up, but it wasn't important to this, right here, right now. "I'm not taking your money, Noctis! It's not happening!"

"Why not?! It would mean you'd live! Why can't you just let me help you?!"

"I could use assistance, if you wouldn’t mind." Ignis' voice and presence in the room shattered the bubble around them, and so neither of them said anything, but at the same time neither of them made to follow Ignis until he followed his statement up with a name. "Prompto." For a second or two more he stayed there, glaring at Noctis, feeling hurt and angry, and feeling like this was it, he'd never feel anything other than those things again, before he followed off after Ignis into the kitchen.

He helped Ignis to put away the spare groceries, and really all that did for him was lower his heart rate. Still, the words he spoke next came out a little more calmly, "Look, Ignis, I know what you're--"

Ignis cut him off. "Could you please wash and cut these?" Peppers were placed before him, and he couldn't help but stare agape even as Ignis gave him further instructions. “Finely diced, please. We wouldn’t want his highness picking them all out.”

"S-Sure!" He was pretty sure his voice came out as a squeak, but he hurried to get to work.

"Noctis," Ignis began the dreaded conversation about why they shouldn't be fighting over this and why he should just shut up and take the money, "has never been especially skilled at connecting with people. Understand that you are the first real friend he’s made."

"That's not true!" How could he even say that?! He chopped with a fervor that matched his feelings. "You and Gladio--"

He was cut off again. Which was really, _really_ , not helping him feel better or heard. "--were chosen for him." He was handed another bag. It looked like it had onions in it. "I was six when I was sworn as his retainer."

" _Dude_." That was just so fucked up. So really fucked up. He'd been a literal child. What was he supposed to think about that? It was just so . . . so! And yeah, he knew the Amicitias were practically born to be protectors for the crown, but still!

"While we are all quite fond of each other, our friendship has, and always will be, intertwined with duty." The way he said that though, it made it sound so terrible. Like yeah, it was...something else to be sworn in at the age of six, but that didn't change the fact that he had a purpose in life, that he'd always have a purpose in life. That was the sort of thing that most people only dreamed about, and in the end they only got weak, generic answers like mother or father. Not that those things weren't good or important, but they weren't always the answer someone was looking for, or even the kind of answer that truly cemented someone in life. Ignis would always know that he was Noctis' advisor and friend. Gladio his shield and friend. They were bonds that couldn't break. Not like theirs.

"To you he is Noctis first and the prince after, is that not right?" He made it sound like such a good thing, and, yeah, Prompto knew there had been others before him who had used Noctis for money or power. Wasn't that exactly the point? He wasn't here for that. He couldn't be here for that. They were friends, and they couldn't be anything more. He would always just be the pleb. The guy who walked a really thin fucking line between being a friend and being a leech.

"Well. . .yeah, but." He ended up pausing, knowing the words in his head, but articulating was just so much harder. Not that it seemed anyone was listening to anything he said. Of course. Ignis wasn't talking to him for him, he was talking to him for Noctis. How he felt probably didn't matter to Ignis at all. Why should it? "If I just let him throw money at my problems, isn’t that the same thing? Then I’m just taking advantage of him, too."

"But you’d be alive. Understand, more than anything, that’s what Noctis wants. Even if it costs him your friendship, I believe so long as you were alive, he’d consider it worth it. He will not back down on this." And there it was. There was the 'Shut up and take it.' Noctis was going to get what he wanted, so his position on it didn't really matter. Of course not.

"If you cannot let him help you for its own sake, I suggest you find a way to compromise. Consider it, at least." As though Ignis had any right to say any of that. As though Noctis didn't feel the exact same way about Ignis, and as though Ignis didn't push him away at every turn. He stared for a moment, trying to convey that through a look, and almost through words, but no. What was the point.

"I can try to do that." It was the expected answer, the only acceptable answer. What was there to try? To compromise? This was a do or do not type of thing. There was no compromise, no paying fifty-fifty. He knew that if he accepted this, it would come back to hurt him, brand him, bite him when things went sour. They would sour. His whole life had soured, his friendship with Noct would obviously be the last thing to go.

"Go on then. You know His Highness is in full pout mode by now. Perhaps you can speak like rational beings now that you’ve both cooled off a little?"

Right. Because this was cooled off. All this had done was make him want to open the window and jump out. It was high enough to kill him, right? He didn't say that. He couldn't even say anything to Ignis at all. He couldn't tell him that Noctis cared about him too, that he would have done the same for him. He couldn't say that he knew Ignis didn't remember him. He couldn't say that his hanahaki was for Ignis. He couldn't say anything except "Thanks, Iggy," before he fled, and how pathetic was that? No. Perhaps Ignis had meant well, but he didn't feel any better. He felt worse. The only difference was that Ignis had taken the fire out of him, and now he felt like a deflated balloon. Empty, sad, and useless.

He found Noctis still with his fire in his chest, lips turned down into that famous pout Ignis had been talking about. He was literally sitting on his couch, arms crossed, staring at the blank T.V. screen. "I'll drag you there if I have to," Noctis told him as Prompto sat down on the couch, not too close, but not too far away.

"What?"

"I will go to your house, abduct you, and literally drag you to the operating room kicking and screaming, if that's what it takes. Or. Let's be real, I'd have someone drug you first. No kicking and screaming."

"Dude, that's kidnapping."

"I know that."

"I'm pretty sure princes aren't supposed to kidnap people, Noct." Not. That. Anyone was supposed to kidnap anyone, but on the scale of Mr. McMurder over there and the Crown Prince of Lucis . . . the Crown Prince of Lucis was _really_ not supposed to kidnap people.

"I'm not doing this as a prince. I'm doing this as your friend. Your friend who's . . . " Noctis took in a breath, a shaking breath that made Prompto look up. Was. Was he crying? "I'm really scared of the idea that you might really die." The words were barely more than a crackled whisper, and confirmed to Prompto that while he might not be seeing tears, Noctis was crying inside. Crying. Over him. He wasn't worth it, yet here they were. The Crown Prince of Lucis was crying over him, an adopted, not Insomnian native pleb who, until that very moment, had really been thinking that was death was better.

Prompto scooted a little closer. "I know," Noctis said, his voice raw, "I know you don't want to take anything from me. I get it. I've had the friends who wanted stuff. I know you're not like that. I know. This isn't using me. This is me offering help when you really need it. I want to help." He heard Noctis take in a deep shuddering breath. "Please take it."

Wasn't the ache in his chest supposed to be for Ignis? Right now it wasn't, even with the scent of delicious food wafting out toward them, it wasn't Ignis. He knew how Ignis felt, but for the first time, he felt like he was really seeing how Noctis actually felt about his friends. Had Noctis been like this for Ignis, too? No. Prompto remembered that day that now felt like a lifetime ago. That day they'd gone to see him after his surgery. He'd been sulking and irritable. Probably because Ignis hadn't even let Noctis know. That's why he'd been bitter. Ignis had, of course, kept it to himself and denied Noctis the opportunity to care for his friends. Like he was trying to here.

Prompto sighed and scooted even closer to Noctis' side. Apparently, now that he was within range, Noctis became a boneless being and fell onto his side. It felt awkward, but this whole damn day, this whole damn situation, was awkward. He put his arm around Noctis' shoulder, and it was a relief when he didn't shrug it away. "I'm gonna pay you back."

"No! You don't--"

"That's it. That's the deal. You pay for this now, I'll pay you back. Take it or leave it."

Noctis heaved a sigh into his shoulder. "Fine. But I'm never gonna hold you to it."

"That's okay. I'll hold me to it."

He didn't see any of them again before the end of break after that. It was probably a good thing, the hacking up of flowers was bad enough as it was. Not thinking about Ignis was easier when he was at home trying to complete his homework assignments and slowly but surely giving himself a heart attack over what exam results would be.

The morning they finally actually had to go back to school, Prompto counted it as a victory that the hana hadn't actually made him pass out yet. That was apparently a common thing with hanahaki. You passed out because you couldn't breathe, and you ended up in the hospital fairly early on, oftentimes. He couldn't run anymore, but at least he could say he hadn't been in an ambulance. Ambulance rides were the worst, both anxiety and money wise.

"Hey," Noctis greeted him by the gate. It was a surprise to find that Noctis had arrived first. It was normally the other way around. Quickly, Prompto checked his phone. Was he late? No. This was about his normal time. Noctis was early, for once. "How are you feeling?"

Was he worried? "Fine," Prompto said with a little bit of a shrug. "Nervous."

"Already?"

What did he mean already--? Oh! "Not about that!" Though he was. Nervous. About that. He'd never actually had real invasive, under anesthetic surgery before. He as definitely trying not to think too much about that. "About the exam results."

"Oh." Noctis blinked at him. "You did fine?"

Prompto snorted at him in return. It jostled the hana in his chest, and he coughed a little. No, really, it was just a little. "Was that supposed to be reassuring? Because it really wasn't there, buddy."

"No! Really. I...already saw."

"Traitor!" Prompto gasped dramatically, pointing at his friend with an accusing finger. What he got in return was Noctis laughing sheepishly, his hand running up through his hair.

"Specs wanted to know my score. So when I went in there, I just...looked for yours, too. You did fine."

"So that's why you're early."

Noctis puffed out a single ha. "Yeah. Made Specs work for it, though."

"You always make Iggy work for it."

They went inside to look at the scoreboard. It was naturally surrounded by people, but once they got close enough to get a good look, Prompto could see that Noctis was up near the top, though not the actual top of the class. It was a score Ignis had probably been satisfied by. After all, Noctis was actually really smart when he put his head down and did the work. Prompto's score . . . well, fine was relative. He was definitely in the lower half of the class, but it also didn't look like he'd actually quite failed anything. That meant he'd done better than he'd thought he had, but Prompto hoped Noctis hadn't told Ignis how he'd done. Ignis might have him executed on the spot. Prompto just. Wasn't smart. It was a fact, and with his hanahaki on top of it, he was just going to have to get over it and move on.

Class itself was painfully slow. He kept getting looks for his coughing fits, and handing in his homework was a pain too. The only good that came of it was from their homeroom teacher. "Don't forget about your senior projects. I know April seems far away now, but it'll be here before you know it." For not being very smart, Prompto was really almost done with his school project. He just had to assemble it. He didn't want to do that until late March, because the glue might come loose, and he'd rather just do it once. There was . . . something else he could do with that idea, though. Something that would both make him feel better about the surgery and was probably really fucking dangerous. He was going to do it anyway.

"Hey, you attached the strap!"

"Duh, you gave it to me. Of course I did."

"It looks good," Noctis said with a smile. It almost looked like he wanted to run his fingers long the fabric of the camera strap, but Noctis had learned long ago not to touch Prompto's prized possession. How many whole paychecks and how much old birthday card money had gone into this thing? Too many and much, probably, but it was, for someone of his status, a nice camera. Practically his baby. He wasn't letting anything happen to it. "So you're taking pics today?"

"Yep!" As though to prove his point, he raised the camera and took a picture of Noctis. When he checked it, it was nice, but then, all three of his friends were unfairly photogenic. Just another way he didn't measure up. "I think I need a few more for my project."

"Oh. Do you need to go up the Citadel? We can do that before heading to my place."

"Nah, I just. I want a few more pics of your 'people'."

Though he snorted in laughter, Noctis already had his phone out. "So I should get Gladio to come over?"

"Yeah. That'd be good."

The pictures he took had nothing to do with the school project like Noctis assumed. He also had no need for pictures of Gladio or Noctis, but it was a good excuse to get a few more shots of Ignis without Ignis getting suspicious.

Once both Gladio and Ignis were gone for the evening, Prompto got jittery to the point where he excused himself from game night earlier than he normally would. Noctis didn't stop him, though he did ask, "Do you want to get Specs to give you a ride home?" That was a double shot, Prompto thought, both to keep him from exhausting himself, and also to give him alone time with Ignis. You know, in case he decided to confess instead. He wasn't going to fall for it.

"It's okay, it's early still."

"You sure?"

"Yep. I got this."

Walking sure took longer, but what took longer still was going through every single one of his pictures and picking out all the ones he wanted to use. It was already in the a.m. when he'd finally pegged them all off and bothered to turn off his light so he could sleep.

The next day was even busier - not because of his homework, but because he spent a good portion of the day down at the mall. First, he'd had to get his chosen pictures printed, and while he was waiting for that he ran (well, not ran, running was definitely beyond him at this point) around to three other stores buying a scrapbook, stickers, a really nice green pen, glue, and other little accent-y type things he might need. Truth be told, he'd done this months ago, too, for his actual school project. It was very deja vu. A lot of the clerks behind counters were even the same people, not that they recognized him among the literal thousands of other customers they'd helped.

Finally, once his pictures were ready, he went home, having spent half his last paycheck. He mentally resolved that the rest of it would have to go into Noct's hands from here on out.

For all his resolve before, once he was home with everything he needed, he procrastinated a little. He ate, he watched television, he even did some homework, but by the time the sun had begun to set, he knew he had to get to work. He only had a few days left until his surgery, and _after_ would be too late.

Prompto settled down at the table with all his purchases, and first thing's first, he sorted through the pictures before he decided on the first few he wanted to use. Then he picked up his new green pen to write on the front of the book. _**Read Me** ,_ he wrote. **_I Contain Memories_**.

On the first page he placed a very flattering (in his opinion anyway) picture of Ignis from the front. Once he was sure that it was stuck and wouldn't move, he picked up the pen again. _**As you've probably noticed, you're missing someone. This is him. His name is Ignis Scientia.**_  It was hard to write legibly, and his eyes were watering even to think the words he wanted to write, the things that in a few days he wouldn't remember.

He thumbed through the book. He had a lot of pages. He had a lot of pictures. He had a lot of memories to write down. He didn't have a lot of time to do it.


	14. Gladiolus

When Gladio found out that Ignis had contracted the hana, he couldn’t say he was even remotely surprised.  Not because there was believed to be a genetic factor, a tendency toward its development running through bloodlines.  It had been the uncle he wasn’t actually related to, after all, who’d had it decades prior.  It was because Iggy was Iggy, and for years he’d watched his sixdamned idiot of a friend get far too attached to men who were unworthy of even his shallowest affections.  When he’d found Ignis coughing up flower petals in his brattiness’ kitchen, he’d assumed this was an extension of that. Realistically, he’d always thought the situation had been a possibility, and he’d assumed that Ignis, being his dumbass self, had fallen for some piece of shit and chosen forgetting in lieu of past experiences.  In retrospect, it had seemed inevitable that the man would fall for some asshole that couldn’t give him what he’d needed and.  It would just.  Go too far.  He regretted that assumption now.

If he’d known it had been Prompto Argentum that Ignis had been pining for, well.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have accepted his friend’s refusal to talk about it at face value.  For fuck's sake.  This was Prompto!  Prompto, who leaned into every minute touch, who looked at anyone remotely friendly with stars in his eyes and picked up stray animals because it was just so sad, they were so alone, and you couldn’t just expect him to just leave them there, right, big guy?  This was Prompto, who after two years Gladio still caught looking at them sometimes like he didn’t quite know how he’d gotten so lucky.  And Gladio didn’t even have to think very hard or long to realize the two probably would have been good for each other.  It was fucking stupid that they weren’t together.  Fucking stupid that he hadn’t pushed a little harder, hadn’t seriously insisted on the possibility that there might be something to be done.

No, he’d just been the asshole who held one of his oldest friends in his arms and, with scarcely any resistance, accepted that in a handful of days said friend was going to lose a piece of himself forever, just to live. Oh, sure, he’d asked Ignis who it was, had reminded him more than once that, no, really, surgery should have been the last resort.  But had he done enough?  Had he _really?_

He wasn’t so sure.  And when he found out who the subject of the brunet’s hanahaki was, he thought maybe he never would be.  Surely there was something more he could have done.

The day following the surgery saw Gladio visiting Ignis at his uncles’ apartment, Noct and Prompto in tow.  Ignis was staying with his uncles, of course, rather than staying in his own apartment all alone or, gods forbid, at the hospital a moment longer than he absolutely had to.  It was Ventus who answered the door, and Ventus who shooed them inside, all smiles and good cheer.  Everything proceeded as expected, right up to the moment they actually went into Ignis’s childhood bedroom and the advisor deadass acted like he’d never even met Prompto before.  Though as far as Iggy was concerned, he _hadn’t_ met him before, of course.  It was immediately obvious, and Gladio was pissed.  He barely held it in long enough for the blond to duck from the room, for the prince to snap at the ailing man in his own frustration, clearly about as happy with the situation as he was.

“You _coward!_ ”  He kept his voice low, hyper-aware of the blond elsewhere in the apartment, only a door between them.  “I can’t fucking believe you right now.”

“I beg your pardon - !” Iggy's voice was thin and raspy as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, his skin paling sheet-white as his struggled for a deep breath.

“Gladio!” Noctis hissed, immediately moving forward to press a hand against Ignis’s shoulder, pushing him back against the bed.  Gladio’s anger was instantly cut with panic.  Of course, Ignis wouldn’t even understand why he was angry.  Ignis had no fucking idea.  He was 100 percent justified, but for fuck’s sake. . .

“Shit.”  This was awful.  Gods, his stomach hurt.  “I’m sorry.  Just.”  He pressed his hand over the prince’s, not quite successfully ignoring the blue-eyed glare fixed on him.  “Forget I said anything, okay?  It’s nothing.”  It so was not nothing, but.  It could wait.  It would have to.  He was just making everything worse.

Hazel eyes narrowed, promising this wouldn’t be the last he heard of this, but when they pulled their hands away, the brunet lulled slightly to the side, limp and wheezing softly.  A few moments more, and his eyes had slipped closed, his lose grasp on the covers letting them know that this time he’d most likely slipped off into sleep.  Gently, Gladio pulled the covers up, sighing softly as he turned to face the prince’s fury.

“What the _fuck_ , Gladio.”  If it weren’t for Ignis laying nearby, he had no doubt Noctis would have been yelling.  Their prince had never been great when it came to controlling his emotions.  He basically had two modes:  complete emotional constipation and word diarrhea.  Gladio knew he was already past his breaking point.

“I _know_ , okay?”  He stepped back toward the bedroom door, trusting the prince to follow.  He did know.  And he didn’t want to talk about this.  This whole situation was some goddamn bullshit.

But then Prompto was out there talking to Ventus, oblivious, and breaking the heavy mood in that way he always seemed to.  Before they knew it, they were back on their way, goody bags in hand.  If nothing else good came out of this, at least there was Ventus’s muffins.  Those muffins were a sixdamn lifesaver.

He'd thought that things couldn’t get any worse, to be honest, but then Noctis started sending him texts – the kind that had images and implied all kinds of things, and worse, asked horrible questions he didn’t want to think about, like whether or not you can get hanahaki more than once for the same person.  Gladio was pretty sure you could, at the very least, relapse, now that he thought about it.  That was a thing, right?  That specifically had been a concern?  Fuck if that was a possibility he really wanted to think about.  But hey, maybe this time at least he could make the sixdamned idiot actually face his feelings instead of just refusing to tell everyone what was going on.

 _Six._   He didn’t want to deal with that.  He didn’t even want to deal with this.  This was clearly not the good timeline.

Then Friday rolled around and Gladio was getting texts in the middle of afternoon drills about Noctis not being at school.  Ignis assured him it was deliberate shirking, but the butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t calm until he knew for sure.  He grabbed a quick shower, leaving the trainees in the marshal's very capable hands before heading to the prince’s apartment, phone close at hand in case the tide should turn.  Shortly after, the prince and his friend arrived safely, curiously without Ignis in tow.  A point to be followed up on once he was finished telling these two chuckleheads what idiots they were being.  Except then Prompto dropped another bomb, and it all seemed a perfectly justified reaction, despite being totally unacceptable.

“Well, shit.”  Sixdamnit, _why_.  The fuck was he supposed to do with that?  “. . . where’s Iggy?”

Apparently changing his shirt, because he got blood on it.  Titan’s rock-hard nipples.  Hearing the full story didn’t exactly make him feel better about it, either.  The last thing Ignis needed to be doing was getting into fights, even if he was well on his way to recovery.  Still, it was kinda funny how the boys were reacting to seeing Ignis go feral for the first time, not that he got to enjoy it more than a moment or two.

Gladio let himself into Ignis’s apartment, settling in to wait when he heard the shower running.  He supposed if he’d been the one who’d _gotten blood on his shirt_ , he’d want a quick wash up, too . . . and Ignis Scientia was a far more fastidious man than himself.  He let his mind blank out as he waited, lips quirking up in a small smile once the shower had stopped and the man himself finally emerged.  He was. . . pretty cute, to be honest, with his hair still damp.  Those glasses reminded him of when they were younger, and Ignis was spotty and far too serious for his own good.  Well.  He was still too serious for his own good, but he’d grown into it, at least.  His eyes were a little red around the rims, his skin a touch too clammy . . . meaning he’d likely either cried or thrown up – Gladio was betting on the latter.  And he knew that was one of his friend’s comfort shirts.  He’d commented once that he liked how soft it was, off hand while not-quite-sober, like Gladio wouldn’t recognize and remember the importance of it.

“Hey, Iggy.”  The man wasn’t in the best of moods, which was fair, considering.  He shrugged off his concern, criticized him for leaving the younger boys alone. . . in other words, yeah, typical overstressed Iggy.  The least he could do was stick around and share the load, particularly given recent revelations.  Did Ignis know yet?  This was going to fucking suck.

Back down in the prince’s apartment, Ignis set to making dinner and Gladio settled in near the younger boys.  If Ignis thought Gladio had looking after tweedle dee and dum covered, he'd focus on the task at hand – though truth be told, he watched Ignis through the doorway to the kitchen more than anything.  The guy had to be worn the hell out by now, but he moved with his usual brisk efficiency.  Nothing like that time he’d almost passed out in the changing rooms only weeks after he’d first picked up crownsguard training.  He was stressed and strained, to be sure, but it seemed he still remembered to pace himself.  Either that, or he’d just gotten better at hiding it.

Sooner than expected, preparations were finished and the bespeckled man brought plates in to the younger boys.  If Gladio hadn’t already watched him be like this for years, he’d be shocked by how soft the other teen was on them, despite the day’s events.  At this point, though, he was basically resigned to it. Frustrated and a little disgusted, but resigned.  And he really wasn’t up for the fight that commenting on it would bring.

Ignis made the offer of tea to the blond who, yep, they’d all noticed coughing this entire time, no doubt.  It was immediately clear the bespeckled man wasn’t aware of the cough’s source at the question itself.  Just as he’d feared - and dreaded. 

Gladio was close enough to see the way Ignis’s eyes dulled at the confession, in the moment he realized that Prompto had the hana.  He didn’t know what was going on in that big brain of his, but Gladio was pretty sure it wasn’t based on the same reality he lived in.  For a guy with three degrees already at 19, he could be a real fucking idiot.   Shortly after, Ignis made his excuses and left, the blond eventually following after.  Having extracted a promise from the prince to stay home and be a good for at least the night, Gladio, too, was on his way.

Over the following weeks, Gladio watched as Ignis retreated back into himself, polite and reserved, business as normal, and the blond deteriorated.  For some reason, though Prompto had apparently agreed to have the surgery for his hana, he had also decided to wait as long as possible before doing so, despite having doubled down on not confessing to the subject of his pining.  Gladio had his suspicions about who that person was.  The timing couldn’t possibly be coincidence and, well, it wasn't like it was a particularly difficult guess.  Gladio really couldn’t blame him, to be honest.  He must have figured out about Ignis’s hana by now, after all.  But still.  Still . . .

He wished he could knock those two idiots’ heads together and they’d just kiss already.  Preferably both, though he’d take the latter, if he really had to choose.  And he was pretty sure Princess was right here with him on this one, judging by the frustration and agitation that had been radiating off of him for weeks now.

And watching Ignis and Prompto interact was. . . painful.  Ignis was polite and helpful and in every action the perfect retainer.  Prompto tried his best to pretend all was well, but most of his jokes fell flat, and as his health worsened, the atmosphere became more and more tense.  The two younger boys had at least come to some kind of agreement on the blond accepting help, but every few days one or the other would make an offhand comment and they’d almost fight – Noct clearly of the opinion that the blond should confess, and Prompto apparently ready to just die already.  Which was absolutely heartbreaking in itself.  Ignis had even gotten involved in one such argument, somehow simultaneously telling the prince to back off while reassuring the blond that, quote, “anyone would be lucky to have him.”  There had been other compliments in there as well, but Gladio had scarcely heard them over the sound of him losing his own sixdamn mind.

There had been a long silence before the blond had responded, his voice subdued when he informed the bespeckled man that he would not be saying that if he knew who it was.  Gladio felt like screaming.  Noctis did, too, if his expression as anything to go by.  Or punching something, maybe.  Gladio could relate to that, he really could.

Ultimately, he couldn’t take it and had to leave for the night shortly after – before dinner was served, even.  He really needed to go for a run or train or something.  Hit something really hard.  “Work on his knife skills,” as Ignis himself would say.   And time would pass with or without him there as a witness.  Too soon and not nearly soon enough, the time approached for the blond’s surgery.  Friday night they’d all have one last meal together, and in the morning, Prompto would go under the knife.   Gladio was not looking forward to it, obviously.  Was definitely not looking forward to after – once had been bad enough, though this time, at least, it would be without the element of surprise.

Ignis would be making meat pies and something called hummingbird cake and also homemade ice cream just because he was so freaking extra.  It would all be delicious, because everything Ignis made was, but a bit depressing knowing that come tomorrow night, the blond probably wasn’t going to even remember liking it.

The blond had one last check up before the event, and the prince had volunteered Ignis to take him while Noctis and Gladio were training – princess wasn’t even being subtle at this point.  In fact, Gladio felt a little like he should be taking bets on whether the increasingly agitated prince was going to blurt it all out and lock the two in a room together before it was too late.  To be honest, if he asked, Gladio would probably help.  He was all for respecting his friends’ wishes, but he just could not take this shit much longer.

If all went according to plan, of course, he wouldn’t have to, now would he?

The prince showered quickly after their session, full of pent-up energy despite having been worked hard and his pinched expression betraying that, yes, most likely he did have something planned.  On the bright side, the likely disaster that would turn out to be would be something only three of them had to remember.  And then they could never mention it again!  _Awesome._

The ride back to the prince’s apartment was tense and not at all improved by the terrible traffic, which Gladio had far less patience for than their usual driver.  The prince also tended to fidget restlessly in the passenger side of his truck cab, which quickly got on his nerves.  He tried to suck it up, just this once.  Noctis had put in a good effort at training, and it was going to be a difficult night for all of them.  He didn’t want to fight – even if it did maybe feel a little inevitable.

And yet, despite the prince’s restless energy the past few hours, the closer they got to actually entering his apartment, the more he dragged ass.  Thanks to Ignis texting him when they’d left the doctor’s office, Gladio knew he and Prompto had beaten them back to the prince’s apartment, but. . .

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame the prince, despite whatever he likely had planned, for not wanting to rush to the last time things were going to be normal for a while.  Or what passed for normal these days, anyway.  Gladio didn’t worry too much about the prince lagging too far behind.  The whole building was mostly full of members of the guard and other servants to the crown.  The risk was minimal.

He didn’t bother to knock before he let himself in – hadn’t ever bothered, truth be told, unless there was some reason to make a point of it.  It was literally his job to have access to the prince at all times of day.  What did it really matter?  Kicking his shoes off, he headed for the kitchen.  Their shoes were here, but he assumed they’d only just beaten them back, given that he didn’t smell anything cooking.  Nothing got between Ignis and dinner preparations, no matter how obnoxiously you tried to distract him.

. . . though apparently someone found the one distraction that worked.  That someone being one Prompto Argentum pressed against the kitchen counter and being very thoroughly kissed.  Gladio froze at the sight, almost dizzy with relief.  A freckled hand pressed against the taller man’s hip, and Ignis had lifted one slender hand to press fingertips slightly against the blond’s jaw, shifting closer as the kiss deepened and the blond let on a low moan.  After another long moment, they pulled apart, breathing heavily, both equally dazed and flushed.  Slowly, Gladio could feel his own brain kicking back into gear.

Kissing.  Ignis and Prompto had been kissing.  _Finally_.

“Oh _thank fuck_.”

Ignis stiffened at the sound of Glaido’s voice, loud and brash in the relative silence around them.  His shoulders snapped back and the line of his body went rigid with the sudden awareness that the two were no longer alone.  But before he could make too much of it, Gladio was already backing away, shaking his head.

“We were never here,” Gladio looped an arm around Noctis where he’d come up behind him, pulling the prince back toward the door and pausing only to scoop up their discarded footwear, “and we’re sure as hell not coming back anytime soon.”  Princess looked as stunned as the other two – hilarious.

“Hey.”  Noctis seemed to finally snap out of it as his shield pulled him into the hall, managing to look disgruntled despite his very apparent relief.  “That’s _my_ apartment!”

“Not tonight, it ain’t,” he teased, pulling the prince into a headlock to ruffle that ridiculous excuse for a hair style.  Gladio could only chuckle when the younger boy struggled in his grip.

Yeah.  Maybe everything was going to be alright after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the worst urge to put the "What if we kissed" meme at the end of this chapter . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Title because BossGoose pitched the idea, and Charmkeeper pitched the song:
> 
>  
> 
> [Just Give Me a Reason](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpQFFLBMEPI)


End file.
